The Equinox of Shadows

The evening of the autumnal equinox settled across the playground with the color of ripe plums. Abigail darted past the swings with a group of children at her heels, her braids flying as she ran. Feet thudded against packed earth. A ring of girls skipped rope near a tree stump, their chant rising like birdsong. Two boys tore through the tall grass, leaping roots and flinging handfuls of leaves at each other as they ran.

The air smelled of grass and chalk, the kind of scent that clung to skin after a long day outdoors.

The sun slid lower, and the shadows grew restless. Abigail’s stretched across the moss, a long-limbed twin that leapt when she leapt. She chased a boy between tree trunks, breathless with laughter, and the dark shape stayed beside her, never missing a step. She slapped her hand against a standing stone, and the figure slapped it too. Her cheeks flushed with the game. Even as she laughed, the season pressed behind her ribs. The equinox promised balance but carried the quiet pull of endings, the slow turn into shadow, the silence of longer nights.

Stillness crept in like fog. Shouting faded. Laughter broke apart and vanished. Abigail slowed, her head tilted, listening to the hush that had fallen. A flicker passed at the edge of her vision.

Then the world changed. The shadows began to rise.

A girl near the swings stumbled back. Abigail pressed her toes into the dirt, heart hammering. All around her, the other children stood still, watching in silence as their shadows peeled free, rising with a sound like smoke through reeds. They stood tall, gleaming, no longer bound to the earth.

The shadows crossed the yard, drifting together toward the horizon.

Abigail’s breath caught and she dropped to her knees, arms locked around herself. Her shadow still clung to her feet. It leaned toward her, close enough to meet her eyes. A spark flashed inside them, like stars trapped in deep water.

The shadow straightened until it towered above her, its edges no longer bound to the earth. Abigail thrust herself forward, fists raking through grass and soil as if weight alone could hold it down. Clods broke in her grip, roots snapping, the figure already moving beyond her reach.

The shadows gathered at the far edge of the field, and some children ran after them, calling out with excitement. Parents watched from their steps, offering halfhearted reminders to stay close. The dark figures drifted on until the distance swallowed them.

Abigail lifted her face to the sky where the first stars had begun to appear. The other shadows had already slipped into the dark, but hers lingered close, their gaze meeting hers for a breath. Her hand twitched at her side, aching to hold them near even as she knew they would follow the rest.

Abigail cried, “Locasta.” The sound tore out before she could stop it. They kept moving and fear rushed hot in her stomach. She leaned forward and called again, this time the way she always thought of them, “Loki.”

The sound carried away on the breeze, and the playground grew dark.

They were leaving, and the empty space beside her felt wrong. The others waited for morning, but she wanted her friend now. One night apart was still too long. The thought pushed hard inside her, and she sprang forward, chasing after them.

They slipped beneath the trees where the branches tangled overhead. Abigail followed, leaves catching in her hair as she pushed through the undergrowth. She told herself to turn back, yet her legs kept carrying her forward. If she lost sight of them now, she would lose the whole night with them.

At the valley’s center rose the arch of stone, taller than any roof in the village. Two faces leaned from its sides, one east, the other west, their mouths streaked with moss and their brows threaded with vine. The elders called it a threshold of Janus, a name carried from days of old. It was the keeper of equal measure, the hinge between dark and dawn. On this night the balance showed itself, the eyes of the stone glowing faint red, a reminder that every turning season carried both.

The shadows filled the valley. A hush followed, deep enough to still the trees. Abigail hurried down the slope, searching the mass until she found them. Loki stood at the front. She had to reach them before the arch spoke. If she was fast enough, she could still hold on.

The ground trembled as a deep boom rolled through the arch, shaking loose stones down the slope. A grinding roar followed, the carved mouths widening as light spilled from within. Both faces turned at once, one east, the other west, and the arch split through its center. The crack widened until the sky poured through, stars burning in the gap, the threshold of Janus opening to the dark beyond.

The Threshold of Janus roared, both stone mouths breaking into one voice that rolled through the valley.

The name rolled through the valley and struck Abigail hard enough to jolt her forward. Loki stepped into the open, their head lowered, arms lifting beneath the weight of the call. Abigail moved after them, her thoughts racing, certain she had to stand at their side when the arch spoke again.

The voice thundered, “The hour stands in equal light. The day and the night divide. Stella Locasta, you hold the turning.”

The gathered shadows stirred at the call, a wave of movement passing through them. Some bent low, others lifted their arms high, each answering in turn. Loki alone remained still, their gaze fixed on the arch. Abigail’s nails dug into her palms as the voices of the stone rolled on, spilling name after name into the night.

The arch split with a crack that ripped through the valley. Light burst through the widening gap until the doorway stood open. A white path poured out and cut straight across the floor, leading to water that glimmered in the distance. The glow fractured into shards like broken glass, scattering across the slope instead of rising whole.

The shadows broke forward in a surge. Abigail ran after them. She went down hard, grit slicing into her palms, but shoved off the ground before the sting could catch up, pushing into the crowd again. Loki stayed near the front, their shoulders locked, their pace set.

The silver path wound into a valley where the stone walls had been cut deep and polished bare. Two rivers ran beside it, one shining, the other dark. The bright current blazed with shifting color, its surface breaking into ripples that lit the air. The black current moved with weight, pulling down the starlight until nothing showed on its face. At the center the rivers bent toward each other, their roar filling the plain.

The shadows crowded forward, jostling at the edge of the bright water. Some plunged to their knees at once, hands cupped and lifted in quick motion. The river lit them from within, their outlines stretching thin until they tore free of the ground. One after another burst upward into the night, constellations taking shape as beasts and crowns across the valley sky.

Others moved toward the black river, lowering their hands into the water before lifting it to their lips. Darkness spread through them the moment they drank, their outlines quivering as the current pulled at their forms. One by one they slid beneath the surface, and the valley shivered with each descent. The river carried them into silence, their shapes unraveling into black matter that climbed unseen into the vault of the universe.

Abigail froze as shadows stepped into the waters. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she forced herself to stay upright and scanned the crowd until she found Loki. They stood at the center, their gaze fixed on the two currents.

She thought back to the spark she had glimpsed in their eyes at the playground, a light that leaned toward silence rather than flame. She saw it again now in the way their body carried the weight of decision, poised between the bright river and the dark. For a breath they looked less like a figure of shadow and more like the friend who once held her chalk steady when her hand shook on the blacktop.

The arch roared again, light bursting from both faces as its voice shook the valley. “Choose your river,” it declared.

The valley held its breath.

“One lifts you to the stars where every eye may see. The other carries you into the dark that binds the heavens together. Both belong to the sky. Both hold the weight of this night.”

Locasta hovered at the bank while the pull of both rivers fought for them. The bright promised a place among the stars, a crown of fire where every eye could trace their shape. The black drew with equal force, its silence winding close, a strength that held the sky together. Both claimed the night, and neither would give way. In the midst of it rose the thought of Abigail, searching the heavens until her eyes found them, unwilling to rest until they returned. That thought pressed as hard as either current.

Their arms jerked, first toward the bright and then toward the dark. They felt her gaze fixed on them, fierce and unyielding, and the strain of both choices locked them in place.

Abigail shoved past the crush of shadows until Loki came into view. She called their name, the sound breaking against the roar of the rivers, and forced herself closer with her arm stretched toward them.

Loki waited at the brink, caught between the two currents. The bright flared with restless light while the black spread low and heavy, and the crowd pressed toward both banks. Their body shook under the pull, every movement caught on the choice that held them.

Locasta’s body shook as the rivers strained against each other. They turned toward Abigail. “Every seven years one of us drinks from both,” they said, the words pulled hard. “Others have done it. The pull is here now, and it does not loosen.”

Abigail pressed forward, her fists tight. “Then hold to me instead.”

Locasta looked back at the water, their outline trembling at the edge. “I can feel you,” they said, “but the rivers feel stronger.”

Abigail shook her head hard. “I’m right here,” she said. “Even if you go, I’ll still be here when you come back.”

Loki knelt at the bank and bent to the bright river, cupping water into their hands before drinking deep. The taste scorched their tongue before they could swallow, sharp as iron struck from stone. Light surged through them, bursting upward until it tore into the sky, where beasts and crowns bent out of the blaze and burned themselves into constellations.

They turned then to the black, lowering themselves until the dark current filled them. The pull came heavy, and their outline wavered as the silence of that river spread wide. Stars fixed themselves in place above, bound in stillness by its weight.

Both streams battled within them, one rising in fire, the other pressing outward into the void, and Loki shook as the two skies strained against each other.

The bright water burned against their mouth, filling them with fire that rose quick and fierce. For a breath it felt like flight, each spark tugging upward, urging them to leave the ground behind.

Then the black reached them. Its taste spread heavy, seeping into every corner, binding them where they knelt. It pressed low, steady as stone, and promised a place that no eye could follow.

Both rivers tore through them, neither giving way. Locasta clenched against the pull, their thoughts lurching between release and refusal. They felt Abigail’s presence at their back, sharp as the rivers themselves, and knew she would wait no matter where the waters carried them. Still the choice pressed harder, demanding they yield to both at once.

The plain shook as the rivers screamed against each other. Light ripped through the sky, stars bursting into new fire that rained over the valley. Abigail fell to her knees, the ground pitching beneath her, and forced her eyes open through the blaze.

Locasta stood in the center. Fire poured from their chest, shadow wound tight around their limbs, both forces bound inside one form.

The rivers heaved against their banks, each wave striking stone hard enough to split it. Mist poured across the plain, sharp on the tongue, and the gathered shadows reeled but did not break away.

Locasta raised their arms and the sky bent under them.

The crack above split wider and spilled bands of color into the night. Stars tore loose from their constellations.

The black river surged to meet it, whirlpools dragging stone from the banks while mist climbed with the spray, alive with fragments that vanished as quickly as they formed.

Locasta stood at the center, their form beating with a rhythm that widened the crack above and drove the rivers harder below.

Abigail stumbled forward over the slick stone, catching herself on her hands before pushing up again. She shouted Loki’s name into the roar. The sound thinned in the air, yet carried far enough.

Locasta turned. Their eyes fixed on her, and the bond between them held while the rivers raged.

The arch shook above the valley. Both mouths opened and the stone spoke with one voice. “The balance stands restored. Light and dark move as one.”

The gathered shadows bent low, trembling as the sky shuddered. Abigail held her ground.

Locasta lifted their arms again. Light surged upward, shadow poured outward, and the two currents spiraled together, sparks raining across the valley.

Abigail pressed forward, spray breaking against her face. She wiped her eyes clear and forced them open through the blaze. At the heart of the storm stood Locasta, fire rising from their chest, darkness running from their hands. Their voice carried steady over the roar.

When they lowered their arms, the last drops of both rivers slipped back into the current. Silence fell across the valley. Then the arch rumbled, its mouths moving as one. “The measure stands even.”

Abigail kept her eyes on Locasta. Something about them had shifted, though she could not have said what. She took a step, then stopped as light spilled through the crack above. Out of it came a figure, turning as it fell. With each twist the glow grew brighter, until at last the shape touched down on the plain. Wings spread wide, made of shadow and fire together.

The traveler hovered above the valley, wings of shadow and fire folding close. When they spoke, their voice carried as a chorus that filled the valley.

The shadows tilted their faces upward as if pulled by a single breath. Some lifted their arms high until their forms seemed to stretch thin. Others pressed themselves flat to the stone. A few swayed while the sound rolled over them, and sparks broke free from their edges and drifted like fireflies.

Locasta lifted a hand toward the traveler. Light streamed from their skin, thin at first and then bright enough to dazzle the eye. The traveler bent down with wings folded close and their fingers touched. Heat swept across the plain and the chorus of voices shifted. Words fell away and in their place rose vision.

The earth hung in the dark, a small round body carrying every fire and silence inside its curve.

The shadows cried out when the vision swept through them. Some clutched their forms tight as though the images might tear them apart. Others rose taller, reaching toward the sky, their edges quivering as the pictures took hold.

Locasta held the traveler while the glow of both rivers coursed through them, light and dark bound into a single current. Their eyes lingered on the earth hanging above the vision, steady and unblinking. “This is Voyager,” they said at last. “The first to drink from both. They became what you see, and they carry the memory of what we’ve lost.”

Abigail stepped forward before she could stop herself, the words breaking out of her. “Then it’s real?”

Locasta looked down at her, the glow still moving through their form. “It’s real,” they answered. “It’s always been real. Voyager carries it still.”

Abigail’s voice wavered but carried. “Will you come back?”

Voyager answered from above. “At dawn. Balance lasts only a night, then the choice begins again.”

Locasta turned toward them. “And you still carry it?”

“I carry all of it,” Voyager said. “Every fire, every silence, every memory that endures.”

Locasta stepped nearer, their form flickering where light and dark crossed. “Then you’ll know me,” they said. “I go by Locasta, but you can call me Loki.”

Voyager inclined their head, and the rivers stilled as though the name itself had sealed the choice. Together they lifted from the plain, rising with the other shadows until the sky broke open to receive them. Fire bent into stars, dark matter wound between them, and the heavens knit themselves whole again.

Abigail tilted her face upward. Blue light spilled through the crack, fine as threads, touching the valley and every figure within it. For a moment the world looked impossibly small, a pale spark in the vast dark, yet it held everything. She stood in that glow until the balance of the equinox was written once more across the sky. Abigail lifted her hand toward the crack above, fingers trembling in the blue threads, trying to hold them in place.

This story was written for the Song of Seven – A Mikeydred September Dollar Prompt challenge