Audrel did not mention the fight to Shel or Samuel. Shel found it strange to look in on Audrel. She was the same person he had known his entire life, but there was something different about her. She had hid who she was, and while the incident revealed her as a different person, she did not look different, she did not act different, but for however much she pretended to be the same person, she was different for Shel.

After the fight, Shel noticed that Neal began to avoid him. He would stop by his house on weekends, when Petra would let Shel alone—something that became less usual as the harvest grew closer—but Neal always seemed busy, pointing to his grandmother as an explanation for his busyness. At first, Shel accepted Neal’s excuses. During the harvest season, with the farmhands and traders working extra hours and needing more to find solace at the bottom of the tavern’s fare, that his excuses were valid. But even on the slow times, during the day and late at night, Neal seemed unreachable, always pointing toward Tara or the tavern as if to explain. It came to the point where Neal would not even talk to Shel, using hand gestures as a way to stop him from getting too close, as if he felt that Shel had the plague, or was contagious with whatever it was Audrel had. Shel began to believe that it was Audrel’s fight with Tommy that had pushed him over the edge.

Shel began formulating plans to catch Neal alone, away from the Pretty Beak tavern, where he could confront him and find out what had happened to turn him away from Shel’s friendship. Neal avoided Shel’s best efforts, always seeming to be one step ahead of him. Every time Shel followed Neal toward the Central District to pick up a delivery for his grandmother, he would lose Neal in the crowd, even though he was sure that he had been watching him closely. Shel never knew Neal to be so capable of losing him so easily, and Shel realized that if Shel had not traveled with Neal, Neal would never get caught by Tommy and her Littlelings.

Petra Jacobsen kept Shel busy at the farmhouse, and Shel found himself having less time to worry about Neal. Audrel continued to work, although she drank more heavily after the fight. She refused to talk about what had happened, regardless of how many times Shel tried to bring up the fight. While Shel was wary of Audrel, he was also fascinated by how she fought. Audrel continued their discipline lessons, but no matter how hard Shel pushed her, she would not teach him the martial disciplines. He knew that was what she had used, but he could not understand why she would not teach him those skills instead of the constant drilling on writing, logic, and other useless disciplines that she would drill into him.

Petra Jacobsen gave Shel the day off during the morning of Samhain, the Celebration of the Dead, one of the few holidays that all the children regardless of their class celebrated. Shel felt he was becoming too old for this holiday. He had discussed it with Audrel the night before, and she assured him that one never did grow out of celebrating Samhain, even now, she told him, she would have liked to spend the night drinking Rotting Tankards and milling about town, during what has turned into a pre-Harvest parade and celebration.

It was early, and Shel was sitting outside the house, watching the crowds walk by the streets. Many people took the opportunity for the day off to visit friends in other parts of town, and many of the people walking through the streets looked lost or unsure of what was around them. Many of them were dressed in fancier clothing than the usual inhabitants, either visitors from other districts or towns, or the residents of the Builders District felt the need to dress up.

Shel was too distracted by the crowds to notice when Neal walked over from the Pretty Beak tavern.

“Happy Samhain to you, Shel.” Neal looked different when he approached. Always before, Shel thought of Neal as easy going. He was easy to get along with and made many more friends than Shel amongst the orphans and other children that wandered through the streets of Varis. Not only that, Neal was always willing to strike up a conversation with those around him, adults and children alike. When he approached Shel, however, he looked shy, almost awkward. For a boy that talked as much as Neal did, and was as free with his words, Shel was surprised to see him like this.

“Where you been hiding?”

“I’ve been around, just busy like I told you. Planning to go down to the square for the Samhain celebrations?”

“Yeah. Audrel wants me to drink the tankard at home, like usual. I swear, that woman wouldn’t trust me with drinking wine, let alone the Samhain brew.”

Neal looked strange. He was breathing quickly and he looked like he was in pain or wanted to get something off his chest. When Neal did not say anything, Shel decided to take a more straightforward approach. I had always seemed to work with Neal in the past. “Neal, what is it? What’s going on? It looks like you’re dying to tell me something, why don’t you just say it?”

Neal coughed. “It’s not like that, Shel.” He glanced back toward the Pretty Beak tavern. “I have to go before my grandmother starts complaining that I’m not working hard enough again. I’ll tell you what: get the brew from your mother and meet me out here and we’ll drink the Rotting Tankards when we walk to the square.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at sundown.” Neal did not wave when he walked across the yard back to the tavern. When you drank the Rotting Tankards, you were supposed to be able to see the dead. Shel had been drinking it for the past ten years, and he never saw the dead. Every year, Neal swore that he saw something after downing the brew, as did the rest of the children in Varis. Shel was sure it was a joke the elders played on their children: tell them they’ll see the dead when they drink the brew, and they’ll end up seeing something just through power of suggestion. Audrel found the whole thing silly, but she brewed the tankard each year and Shel dutifully drank it. Audrel had suggested that maybe this year, since Shel was getting older, he should skip the tankard. Shel had not answered before, but now that he had a chance to get back on with Neal, he decided he would drink the tankard for one last year. He was worried about his friendship with Neal, and he did not want to threaten it by pretending he was too old for the tankard. That was, unless Neal was beginning to feel that way. Shel laughed to himself at how complicated adulthood was becoming.

The day past slowly for Shel as he helped his mother around the house. The tavern was closed today, as was every business in Varis. It was a day to celebrate and remember the dead, and most families did just that, visiting the cemeteries that surrounded Varis and telling stories about those who passed. The orphans spent the day begging near the cemeteries, where it was customary for those visiting to give charity to anyone who asked. The governors’ guardsmen would be out in force tonight. While there was never any trouble, with so many children running around city and especially in the square, the governors never took any chances. The only children who would not be in town were Tommy and her Littlelings. Each year during Samhain, they spent the night celebrating inside wherever they were holed up. Shel would not miss Tommy or her Littlelings.

Before nightfall, Shel helped Audrel brew the Rotting Tankard. Audrel mixed the ingredients into the small soup pot they used for stews and soups. Everyone used the same recipe, and Audrel followed it exactly. Shel would hand Audrel the ingredients, and she would mix it in, stirring it slowly in the bowl.

“Are you sure you’re not outgrowing this tankard? I thought you told me it was a child’s game and you weren’t a child anymore.”

Shel blushed as Audrel stole his thoughts. He was getting older, but he needed the brew to join Neal this evening. “I think this’ll be my last year of drinking this stuff. It doesn’t do anything for me, but everyone will be expecting it.”

“And we wouldn’t want to disappoint everyone, now would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t want that.” Shel stirred the soup bowl until the ingredients started to dissolve. While the recipe did not strictly call for it, most adults put a few drops of ale or wine into the mixture to ensure that the children felt something during the Samhain evening, even if it was not the visions of the dead. Audrel was no different, and two years before, she had told Shel that she had been adding a mug of ale to the brew for as long as she had been mixing it for him. She had told him in conspiracy tones, as a first step to his understanding that he was growing out of these child-like customs. Audrel poured the ale into the mixture after Shel had taken the soup bowl off the fire.

“If you pour the ale into the tankard when it’s too hot, the alcohol will burn off and you won’t get anything in the way of a buzz. This way is much better, trust me on this.” Shel did trust Audrel. On this topic she was clearly an expert. Alcohol and now fighting. He wondered what other secret talents she possessed.

Audrel poured the mixture into a large tankard. “Well, Shel. You wanted the brew, you better drink it all. Hop to.”

“I’m going to take it with me to the square. I’m meeting Neal and we’ll drink it together.”

“You expecting to see the dead walk in the square? Why don’t you finish it here, and then you can go meet with Neal.”

Shel held the warmed tankard in two hands and took a deep breath of the vapors from the liquid. It smelled of the earth, of roots, of the harvest, and of Audrel’s hangovers. It was getting dark, and Shel knew he would have to hurry if he wanted to meet Neal to head over and see the parade in the square.

“I’ll finish it in the square. Don’t wait up! You know how the Samhain festivities sometimes get.”

Audrel grabbed Shel’s arm. “I wish you would finish the tankard before you go out. I’d hate to lose the mug.”

Shel grinned and pulled himself free of Audrel’s grasp. “I’ll be careful with the mug. I’m glad you’re worried about the important things.” With that, he slipped outside the door and ran across the yard, balancing the mug to control the liquid and not spill it before he had even a drop.

Neal was waiting outside the tavern when Shel arrived. He held his own mug in his hand, a large, brightly colored mug with the dark brown brew giving off tendrils of smoke.

“Ready to go over?” Shel asked.

“One minute. Shel, I need to know, have you ever seen the dead after drinking the Rotting Tankard?”

Shel laughed at Neal’s question. “The tankards don’t let you see the dead, Neal. The adults slip alcohol into the brew, that’s why kids see things, they’re drunk.”

“You’ve never seen the dead, have you?”

“I just told you,” Shel began but Neal cut him off.

“Did you know that there’s just one recipe for the Rotting Tankard? Every adult in town knows the same recipe, and they all make it the same way.”

“Yeah, of course I know that. And every year you claim to see something when you drink yours, and I see nothing.”

“Have you watched the way Audrel makes your brew?”

“Yes. I’ve been mixing it with her for the past five years. I even see her slip in the ale each year.”

“I watched what she brought back from the tavern last night. She didn’t take the nightingale twig, Shel. She substituted a thyme twig for the nightingale. I even pointed it out to her, and she just chuckled. She’s been making it wrong this entire time.”

“Since when have you become the expert on the Rotting Tankard? Didn’t you hear me? It’s all the same, it’s only the alcohol that does anything.”

“If that’s the case, why don’t we switch brews this year.” Neal held out his tankard. Shel could not believe that Neal still fell for the silly stories the adults told. There was nothing magical about the Rotting Tankard, it was the alcohol that did anything, and Shel and Neal had been slipping drinks from the Pretty Beak tavern for many years now, and he knew whatever alcohol Tara put in Neal drink would have a similar effect to the mug of ale Audrel dumped into his brew. Neal was just being silly.

“Audrel would kill me if I bring back the wrong mug.”

“She’ll never know. I’ll make sure we switch back before the night is through. What do you say? Didn’t you tell me this would be your last Samhain celebration? What are you worried about then? You might as well go out with an experience.” Shel did not think he would have much of an experience besides a hopefully drunken one, but Neal seemed so sure of what he asked, and seemed to believe that there was something to this brew. He could see no harm being done with this, and held on his tankard for Neal to take.

“Let’s switch a bit further up the road. I don’t want Audrel to see what we’re doing.” Shel looked back and was surprised to see Audrel at the door watching him. He waved and took a sip of his tankard so she could see. Neal went ahead and Shel quickened his pace to catch up.

“She’s just worried about us during Samhain,” Shel said, more to himself than to Neal. “You know some of the orphans get out of hand.”

Neal did not respond. He lead them down the road toward the Central District. Samhain was the one night of the year where Shel did not worry that they would be jumped by gangs. There was an effective cease fire between the children on this night. It was a night to celebrate, a night away from adults, who stayed inside instead of risking the tricks that the children would play on the night to any adult they saw outside. Even the governors’ guardsmen stayed away. The guardsmen were usually to be found along the walls. They were called out, but stayed clear of the streets except if they were called. They allowed this children and orphans this one day of freedom, where they ran the town. The only adults about were vendors, who hawked their goods in the Central Square, unwilling to forgo a night of plying their trade, or willing to trust the running of their businesses to children.

When Shel and Neal crossed into the Central District, Neal pulled Shel to the side. “We should drink the brew now.”

Shel nodded, happy to be rid of the brew, which grew heavier the more he walked. Happy also to have a taste of its alcohol, which he knew would lower his inhibitions and let him talk to the other children, which he usually found himself too bashful to approach. “Bottoms up.”

Shel lifted the tankard to his mouth and poured its contents into his mouth. He knew better than to taste the thick brown liquid, and tried to swallow the brew as quickly as he could, forcing his throat to swallow whatever was in his mouth. Neal did the same, and they raced to the bottom of the Rotting Tankards.

“Nasty,” Neal said when he finished, wiping his lips with his sleeve. “What did Audrel put in here? A bottle of whiskey?”

“Just ale, my friend. Just ale,” Shel said after finishing Neal’s brew. It was clear that Tara did not share Audrel’s taste for alcohol. There was only a slight hint of wine in Neal’s drink, too small an amount, he knew, to get a satisfactory buzz off of. He regretted switching drinks with Neal, and began to rethink Neal’s motivation. Perhaps he knew what his own drink would contain, and that was why he had come up with that silly story about Audrel using the wrong ingredients in his brew.

“Shall we go watch the parade and see who is about?” Neal asked.

“Please, lead on, my good friend.” Shel’s spirits were uplifted from the drink and the energy in the crowd of children.

Shel led Neal through the Central District, past the sweet bun vendors and toward the square, where most of the children would be waiting. Some of the bard apprentices were practicing: juggling fire sticks and singing and playing instruments. There was a festive feeling to Samhain that Shel was not sure he was ready to give up.

They made it to the square as the marching children arrived. Each child held onto the child in front them, either by their shoulder or their hands, or sometimes through an odd bit of clothing. Other children walked between the chain of children, breaking in and growing the chain, or shortening it by leaving the chain and attaching the two neighboring children together. The children in the chain danced along, snaking their way through the different stones and stairs that made up the square. A large crowd of children watched, some cheering or singing, but many, particularly the younger ones, standing and watching the parade. Skinny, sick-looking orphans were spread out amongst the crowd of children. This was the one day where they would not go hungry. Some of the younger ones already looked sleepy, the brew hitting them harder than the older children who knew better how to handle the alcohol’s effects.

“How do you feel,” Neal asked. Shel waved and clapped his hands above his head in answer. Some of the children around them turned to look at Shel, and some even joined in. Even Neal, after some prodding, joined in the clapping when a bard took up the beat and started strumming on his mandolin a tune.

The night passed quickly as Shel became caught up in the festivities. Neal always stayed near him, but he seemed detached from what was going on, as if he wanted to remain outside and look in on what was happening. Shel was dancing with the other children, two older children on large drums were beating the rhythm and the entire square was packed with children gyrating to the sounds. Shel danced and clapped with the rhythm, and when he slapped his hands together, he realized he no longer held his mother’s mug. He looked around him until he found Neal, who stood a bit off to the side, moving with the crowd, but seemingly more interested in watching Shel than celebrating.

“Did you see what I did with Audrel’s mug? She’ll kill me if I don’t bring it back.”

Neal held his own mug curled in his middle and ring finger. He shook his head and pointed to his ear giving Shel the universal signal that he could not hear what he was talking about. Shel pulled him to the side. “My mug,” Shel began again. “Do you know what I did with it?”

“Sorry, bud. I didn’t notice you put it down. One of the orphans might have taken it when you were not looking. You looked like you were having a good time out there.”

Shel stopped listening to Neal when he saw black figures in the distance. Three large bonfires lit the square and the children were still dancing around the fires. The black figures were near the dancers, standing on top of some of them, but they were not really there.

“What is that,” Shel said, pointing toward the figures. Neal looked where he pointed but did not respond.

Shel felt a bit light headed. He was not sure if it was from the brew or from the dancing. It had turned hot near the fires, hotter than he had expected for a late autumn night. His face and arms were covered with sweat, and his mouth was dry and tasted of cotton. The black figures shimmered in the fire light, the fire passing under and through them as they approached Shel.

“That,” Shel said, this time pointing at the approaching fingers. “Don’t you see that?” And still Neal did not respond. Shel could not take his eyes off the two approaching figures to see why Neal was not responding. He was transfixed with their approach.

As the figures grew closer, Shel saw that the one on the left was shorter and more feminine. He could see through both of them, but the area they took up seemed to suck up any light that tried to pass through them. “What are they?” Shel said, this time more to himself than to Neal. He should have felt afraid, but he did not feel anything. All he could do was stare at the black figures as they approached.

The two figures stopped in front of Shel, spaced apart. Their bodies were made of darkness, but he could see that their shape was human. The one of the left was shorter and he thought it looked feminine, even though it was not shaped like any female or even any human he had ever seen. It was just the impression it was giving off. The one on the right was taller and more transparent. It seemed less there than the female one.

“What are you?” Shel asked in a whisper. While he did not expect an answer, when the voices sounded in his head, he was not surprised, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for shadows to talk.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding from me?” the female shadow said.

“I did not know. He has grown so big.” The larger shadow’s voice was less concrete, like its body, it appeared almost like it was not there. “You must have known I wasn’t the last afterwards.”

“Then my efforts are wasted. I grow weaker by the day, and whatever daughters bear, it will not have my powers. I made a mistake in not finding you earlier and learning of this.”

“You knew the prophecies. I would be your downfall.”

“Your arrogance has always been your weakness. It was never you that would bring me down. I knew that even before you escaped me.”

“Then it will be my son!”

The shorter shadow began chuckling. “We shall see. That we shall see.” Shel remained quiet throughout the entire conversation, not understanding what they were saying or why they were saying it to him. It was said that the dead you saw were those of your blood, close relatives who would reveal truths or share important prophecies. He had never heard of the dead having a conversation, or about shadows that walk and talk.

It took Shel a few minutes to realize that the Samhain party still raged around him. Neal was standing next to him, his hand on Shel’s shoulder, waiting.

“They say that the year you see the dead is the last year you celebrate the Samhain,” Neal said.

“You saw them too?”

“Not what you saw, Shel. I’m not related to you, but I knew you would see them. Go home and tell Audrel what you saw. She will understand.” Shel did not understand, and he did not understand what Audrel would understand or what Neal knew.

“What do you know?”

Neal’s lips formed an awkward smile. “Us madmen, we know some things, Shel. Go tell Audrel. She will know.” Neal dropped his arm off of Shel’s shoulder and turned toward the crowd. He started clapping with the children and did not turn as Shel slipped through the crowd.

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