The sun always shone on the plains outside the city.
That’s where he and his shadow endlessly wandered under the harsh midnight sun, his scarf wrapped tightly around his face. The apricity of the sun offered some modicum of warmth against the sharp late-autumn air that seeped through his ragged coat, but he trudged through the long grass towards the caravan for the promise of warmth. They often stopped outside the city, setting up their tents for a while to sell their wares.
He pushed aside the canvas flap of a green tent labeled as a watering hole; an impromptu bar had been set up inside, the only seating there offered being cushions on the cold ground.
“Come in,” the bartender said with a yawn.
“An ale, please,” he said as he sat.
“Coming up. Had a lot of business tonight, what with nobody able to sleep. I suppose it’s true what they say; the sun always shines on the plains.”
“It’s my fault,” he said as he accepted the mug of ale. “I’m sorry.”
“Your fault?” The bartender asked.
“The sunlight shines over me no matter where I go,” he said, observing it cascading through the green fabric of the tent, tinting everything within the color of apples in summer.
“Sounds like you could use The Sorrower’s help,” the bartender observed.
He scoffed. “Do you know where he is?”
“We encountered him in the town to the south. Just on the main road.”
“I’m familiar with it,” he muttered darkly. “We met there once, many years ago.”
“You don’t say that like it’s a good thing.”
“He did this to me,” he said, gesturing upward towards the sky.
“Why would he do a thing like that?” The bartender asked, the confusion written on his face.
“He said it was to cure my Sorrow. But he didn’t even tell me what my Sorrow was.”
“Well,” The bartender said, “If you set off now, you should get there by-...”
“By morning?”
The bartender looked grim. “By morning.”
“Thank you.”
***
The harsh noon sun so early in the morning had alerted the law to his approach well before he got to the town itself. Sheriff Malcolm stood at its border, waiting.
“I knew you were coming,” the sheriff said to him as he drew to a stop.
“What gave me away?”
“You know what I’ll have to do if you take another step, Asa.”
“Of course. Arrest me for the murder I didn’t commit,” Asa said. He then continued, “I’m looking for The Sorrower. Is he here?”
The sheriff glanced skyward and sighed. “Before you get any idea of revenge,” the sheriff said, “You’d best remember The Sorrower is the only reason you aren’t in chains.”
“The only reason?”
The sheriff sighed. “Fine. Not the only reason. What those men did was… I understand your anger, Asa. But that doesn’t make it right. You don’t seem to get that.”
“He didn’t even tell me what my Sorrow is,” Asa said, the hardness in his voice breaking to reveal the vulnerability. “He cursed me and left me to wander.”
The sheriff sighed. “Go to the spring. I’ll ask him to meet you there.”
Asa met the sheriff’s gaze for the first time. “Thank you.”
He turned to walk away through the biting breeze. “Asa,” the sheriff called after him.
Asa and his shadow turned.
Sheriff Malcolm offered his coat.
***
The spring was to the East of town. A waypoint for weary travelers, tents and carts often made camp near its crystal clear waters, ate fruit from its many trees. The branches were skeletal this close to winter, the intense sunlight overhead casting sharp, gnarled shadows upon the grass.
There were no carts, though. There were no tents.
There was The Sorrower, standing in the sunlight.
Asa and his shadow stopped on the banks, the sparkling water of the spring between himself and The Sorrower.
The Sorrower didn’t cast a shadow in the sun.
The silence reigned.
“You found me,” The Sorrower eventually said.
“Why?” Asa asked. “Why did you do this to me?”
“I did it,” The Sorrower said, “to save you.”
“To save me from my Sorrow,” Asa repeated sardonically. “Leaving me an outcast for a crime I didn’t commit, sweltering under the sun no matter where I go.”
“A crime you almost committed,” The Sorrower corrected tactfully.
“It’s strange, Sorrower,” Asa said. “After all this time, I thought I would have so much to say. So much to ask. But I have only one question: What was my Sorrow?”
The Sorrower almost laughed, the sound a sharp exhale. “No thoughts of revenge? No anger? You just want to know?”
“Yes,” Asa said sincerely. “Please. Tell me, Sorrower.”
The Sorrower sighed. He began walking around the spring, long strides taking him along its banks. “Had I not stopped you,” The Sorrower mused, “You would have made a mistake. And even though you didn’t, it still tainted you. You have no anger towards me, no thought of revenge, because you think that, perhaps, you deserved it. You think you might be the monster you almost became.”
The Sorrower drew to a stop next to Asa on the spring’s banks.
“You don’t have a Sorrow,” The Sorrower said. “I saved you from yourself.”
The Sorrower slowly and deliberately closed his eyes. For the first time in so many years, the sunlight faded. The shadows stretched long under the low light of dawn.
Asa looked at his shadow.
Asa’s knees gave out, and he dropped them onto the grass.
“That’s…”
The Sorrower sighed. “Yes, it is,” he said. “That’s you. Under the cursory glance of normal circumstance, anyway.” He surveyed the twisted thing for a moment longer. “But that shadow is not clear. That is not what you are, Asa, even though you believe it. Even though, perhaps, they believe it too. The light of day is harsh, but it is honest. It casts a clear shadow.”
The Sorrower closed his eyes once more. As they opened, the sunlight above again grew harsh. Asa’s shadow returned to normalcy. “Had I let you see that,” The Sorrower, “had I let you live with that image for all these years, it would have poisoned you. That shadow is not an honest image of you, Asa, but it is the one you would have believed.” The Sorrower knelt down next to him. “That is not what you are,” he said, placing a gentle hand on Asa’s shoulder. “The harsher the light, the clearer the shadow; and you needed to see your clear shadow, or it would have destroyed you.”
Asa remained silent. The Sorrower pitied him, and spared him the cruelty of dreadful silence. “When the light faded from her eyes,” he said, “it had to go somewhere. It found its way to me as if with purpose, and I took hold of it. That’s what shines on you now. It was my hope that, given time to dwell on the shadow that she sees, that I see, that others do not, that you could make it the true one,” The Sorrower said. “You get to choose which shadow is true. The twisted monster, the creature created by the choices you made, the one that is easiest to see; Or a flawed, damaged man; vulnerable, righteously angry, ired by the injustices that formed his circumstance. The second is harder to comprehend, but it can be done. It is not a monster; it is understandable; it is comprehensible; it is tragic, but it is human. So what are you, Asa Greeves? Are you only shaped by the choices that you’ve made? Or can you let yourself be human despite them?”
Asa dwelled on this for some time. He finally brought himself to open his eyes, though when he’d closed them, he didn’t know. “Do you really think the world will see anything but the monster?” He asked earnestly.
“Yes,” The Sorrower said. “I believe so, truly. I did, after all. And so did the man who, despite everything, gave you mercy, and gave you his coat.”
Asa drew a shuddering breath. “Take away the sunlight, Sorrower,” he said.
The Sorrower complied.
Asa’s shadow grew, and stretched, but no more than those of the skeletal trees.
“This is the shadow the world sees,” The Sorrower said. “Informed by the choices you make, but not defined by them.”
“And if I make the right choices,” Asa said, “I shape the shadow to resemble the true one?”
The Sorrower smiled softly. “You were too full of anger back then,” he said, “too blind to yourself to handle such a shadow, to see past it. You almost let your anger define you. But now you have wandered with it, had time with it, lived with the shape of it. You were not ready to believe in it then, but I believe you are now.”
“The light is harsh,” Asa repeated, “but it is honest. I am more than the choices I make.”
The Sorrower stood. Asa stood with him. “Go show the world your real shadow, Asa Greeves.”
“Thank you, Sorrower.”
“I suggest you go to town, make your peace with the sheriff. He has seen a twisted shadow or two in his day, I’m sure; he will understand. And… I’ve made sure he’ll let you tend to her grave.” The Sorrower then turned to leave.
Asa called after him. “Sorrower?”
The Sorrower and his shadow turned.
“Under the harsh light,” Asa Greeves said, “Where was your shadow?”
The Sorrower looked down at the thing rooted to his feet. He sighed.
“Some shadows are harder to comprehend than others,” is all he had to say.
The Sorrower and his shadow left.
Asa and his shadow returned home.
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