The Shapeshifter

CHAPTER 1: Where Skye gets sick and tired

Have you ever had that desperate feeling of watching what you want slip away, clinging to the last shreds of hope? That's exactly how I felt on this warm, sticky summer morning. The road connecting Ashfall to the rest of the Crater World was about to be demolished, and a new river would flow over my only hope of escape from this boiling, burning place I called home.

The Ashfall City Council's proclamation had been posted for weeks: “Due to excessive foreign interference and unauthorized traversals, the Crater Road will be permanently sealed. Ashfall must return to its isolation to preserve its culture and its way of life!”

I should have left long ago, but here I was, still clawing my way up these cursed rocks. My hands were raw, legs shaking. If I didn't reach the top before they released the flow, I never would.

The thought of staying here, slowly growing old, never seeing anything but these red, purple, and black rocks until the day I died made me sick. What had I even been hesitating for? I wasted so much time!

 I'd left in a rush, stuffing clothes and trinkets into a small sack, driven by some half-formed hope I couldn't even articulate now.

The road stretched dark and empty ahead. No sparkles cutting through the air. No Laviens rushing home. Everything had gone still, holding its breath.

I wished I were faster, stronger. Not even an hour had passed, and I was completely out of breath. But stopping wasn't an option, I had a whole night's walk ahead. I pushed on until I collapsed on the ground, exhausted, my head against molten rock.

Catch your breath, Skye. Steady.

Footsteps echoed up the road behind me. Who would be crazy enough to come here now?

A figure emerged from the shadows below—tall, angular, unmistakable even in the dim light.

Of course, it would be Kael.

He sank beside me without a word, not even glancing my way. We stayed silent, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between us. Finally, I took a deep breath and leaned my head on his shoulder. 

He was slightly out of breath, which was strange. I'd never seen him winded before.

After a few minutes of silence, he gently nuzzled my hair, taking a shuddering breath.

Guilt hit me like a physical blow. In all of Ashfall, Kael was the only one who would care that I wasn't there tomorrow. He was the closest thing I had to a friend.

He'd come to Ashfall a few years ago, but it felt like he'd been here forever. When things got especially hard, he was always there to give me a quick hug or pull me out of the Ember River before I lost my limbs. Laviens were mostly heat resistant, but even we couldn't swim in boiling lava for too long without melting away.

I remembered when stone falls crushed Lumi - my pet sparkle, a little bundle of fur with spiky eyelashes and orange glossy wings. Lumi was the only pet I'd ever had, and when it died, Kael had cradled me so I could hide my tears. Lumi had always followed me around, even before I adopted her. It must have been old, maybe too old to dart away fast enough when the sturzstrom came crushing.

At least that's what I told myself. The alternative, that I'd somehow failed to protect the one creature that chose to stay with me, was unbearable.

When things were bad, Kael would put his arm around my shoulders and hold me up until I could face this world on my own again. I seemed to be the only one he really noticed. Sure, he spoke with the guys at the mines, but mostly just small talk.

Kael kept his long black hair tied low, though a few strands always escaped to hang over his face. Dark eyes, sharp nose, thin lips, everything about him was angular and pale, complementing his wiry frame. He was at least a head taller than most miners, which made him irreplaceable when it came to catching shield moles above or fixing crumbling cave ceilings.

Despite his thin frame, he was legendary for his strength. Once he'd lifted a rock his own size to free trapped miners. His pale, bony face was well known and welcomed in Ashfall. Miners liked taking shifts with him because being around Kael meant that whatever went wrong, they'd get out alive.

I loved that about him. Kael was safe and predictable. 

In the evenings we'd sit by the flowing stream and talk. I was fascinated by his stories of worlds far beyond, I didn't even care if they were true. His descriptions of amazing animals, valleys, mountains, oceans, and blue skies took my breath away. His stories were never repetitive or dull.

What would a green tree look like?

Sometimes he'd pull out a small glass prism and play with it until it caught the light just right, showing me the amazing colors: yellow, green, blue, navy, violet. Who knew such colors could exist, even if only in fleeting light?

And then there were the creatures he'd draw for me in the lava. I wished those drawings would survive longer, they froze just long enough to burn into my imagination before being taken by the ever-changing stream. He said these creatures of all shapes and colors felt cool to the touch. He spoke of sky-water that hardened into icy stone, cold enough to sear your skin away. I'd spent nights trying to imagine cold, invisible water that burned.

Somehow Kael always knew what I was up to or when I was in trouble. Years ago, on that terrible day, when fire melted my home, he got to me just in time. I would have jumped into the flames to save something, anything! Pieces of my childhood were melting right before my eyes. 

Kael held me back while the fire raged. That was the smart thing to do, the safe thing to do, but at that moment, I hated him for it. Even if just for a second. All my bitterness, pain, and loss came together in one scream that tore my throat raw. I could have salvaged something, anything, and now it was all gone.

That was everything I had left of Uncle Archie. 

We never spoke about that day with Kael after. The melted pile of slag and ash just sat there, undisturbed, while I found a room to rent above the workshop where I worked. 

Archie would have liked Kael. The thought came to me at odd moments, when Kael was being particularly mysterious, or when he did something quietly kind without acknowledging it.

My uncle had the most wonderful collection of strangest things, most completely useless but nonetheless, most wonderous. His old desk had been full of glass orbs, odd-shaped keys and trinkets, brooches and boxes, scraps and figurines, and I'd loved all of them. Nothing was off limits, no rules, as long as I didn't show them to anyone or take anything outside.

Sometimes Archie would say, eyes twinkling as he arranged them on his desk, “You never know which one might come alive if you're not careful. Sometimes magic is sleeping in the smallest things, waiting to wake up.”

I'd lie in bed imagining every piece coming alive all at once, crawling from the desk to twirl in the whirlpools of magical dance all around me.

After Archie's death, it felt as if his trinkets knew he was gone. They mourned with me, as if their shimmer had dimmed somehow. They just sat there, collecting dust, waiting for me. I'd missed Archie too much to touch any of them without breaking down, and yet I knew they were there, when I was ready. Fire took it all away. Losing all of them was like losing Archie all over again, all of him, this time.

On that day, I screamed at Kael until my voice gave way. After I cooled off, he disappeared. Nobody knew where he was. A few days later he'd returned as mysteriously as he'd left. I'd wanted to apologize for taking it out on him, I knew he'd saved my life, but he'd waved it away and smiled.

Smiles were rare from him. Smiles meant everything would be all right.

Sometimes we'd climb up this road where no one could see us and look down at Ashfall glowing in the darkness below. Up here, the city looked almost beautiful, the harsh reality softened by distance. He'd play with the tips of my hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers, and I'd pretend not to notice.

I was quite short, even for a Lavien, barely reaching most people's shoulders. Bright red hair, pale complexion, and big orange eyes that dominated my face. Orange curling veins traced delicate patterns across my limbs.

I spent most of my time in a ceramics workshop making cups, my specialty. My cups were works of deliberate impossibility, stone carved so thin it was nearly glass, covered with intricate patterns that made them fragile to the point of being almost unusable. Almost. One careless move and scalding liquid would find every hidden channel I'd carved into ornaments, spilling into your palms.

The workshop headmaster had thought I was mad to even try selling something like that, until I had more orders than I could possibly manage. For some, handling my cups was an intricate game, almost a sport. For others, these were perfect gifts to humiliate clumsy relatives. My cups had become famous, so I could keep making my customers' lives miserable with every cup, while being paid for it.

If only Kael would agree to leave the Crater with me. When the announcement about sealing Ashfall came, he acted like everything was fine, like being stuck in Ashfall with no way out was exactly what he wanted. I couldn't bear it. Yet I hesitated, waited longer than I should have.

Now here we were, perched on the crater wall slope, drowning in awkward silence. For the first time, Kael wasn't looking at me. We sat by the road, brushing shoulders, so close, and so distant.

“You left.” His voice was flat.

“You said you weren't coming, that it was nonsense and child's play. What did you expect me to do?” My words came out sharper than I intended. 

“You'll never make it out in time anyway. They'll release the lava stream any minute, and there's at least a day's walk to reach the rim. You'll just be carried down with the stream.”

“I know.”

“And you're still going?”

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet.

“Even if you do get out, you'll never survive on your own. Do you want to die somewhere out there, all alone?”

"I don't care." The words came out steadier than I felt. "I don't want to stay here forever, getting old under my rock. A nice long, dull life." I said it the way you say something you've been rehearsing without knowing it.

"And what about me?" His voice shifted — something underneath the anger now, something worse than anger. "You just toss me away like one of your broken cups and leave?"

“You can come with me.”

“I can't go there.” He paused. “Please stay.”

"No."

He flinched.

"What a spoiled brat you are!"

"Bye." My voice came out small. I pressed a kiss to his cheek — quick, before I could think about it — and stood up.

I had to move now. Another minute and I'd curl up in his arms and cry all the frustration building in my throat, and lose every scrap of resolve I had left.

I told myself I'd come back someday. That I'd sit across from him and tell him about everything I'd seen, all the places he'd refused to follow me into, and he'd grumble and call me spoiled again and pour me tea without asking.

Someday.

I felt him rise behind me. The familiar weight of his hand as he lifted a strand of my hair. His lips brushed the ends.

When he released it, the strand fell against my shoulder with severed finality.

I didn't look back. It would have been more than I could carry.