The bats swept and dove like dark necklaces at the edge of the clearing. Dusk alighted on the forest trees behind the fence and smiled its half smile. Dadin had died.

Shiyal, pruning branches up in the apple tree, waited for her mother’s cries to start up from the house, but silence greeted the bats’ declaration. She scrambled down the tree, tossed the pruning shears to the ground, dashed past the vegetable garden and the strawberry patch covered over with wire mesh, and stopped outside the sunroom. She hesitated, then peeked through the window. Dadin lay back in his favorite reclining chair, the Yulasil splayed at his feet, its pages bent back. The blotches on his wrinkled face and hands had darkened.

She sucked in a breath. Pivoted on her heel. Dusk drained sunlight from the leaves, its large body blanketing the beginning of the woods. The bats flitted about.

“Shiyal,” her mother called from inside the house. “It’s almost Dusk, dear. Come inside. No need to invite fable to dinner.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Yet her feet carried her towards the trees, closer to Dusk. It swelled against the fence, no feet or wings or teeth, no limbs, but a body of answers, nonetheless. Dusk functioned as the keeper of the afterlife, so the stories said, and the bats worked as its messengers.

Her legs propelled her at an awkward half-trot, half-trudge. What was she doing? She stopped at the fence, where Dusk tried to squeeze through but couldn't except for at the top, bulging like a muffin in a tin. She peered into the murk, at the bats, diving in and out. One bat hung from the oak tree on the side of waning sunlight, close to the sunroom, one green eye blinking slow at her. In her dadin’s stories, the bats could talk in Dusk.

“Did you see him go?” She asked the bat. She curled her hands into fists. “Will he get to see Nanin?”

“Shiyal?” Her mother stepped out of the house. The bat flitted into Dusk, and Shiyal, on impulse, plunged after it.

Dim light enfolded her, muffling sound, blurring vision, as if several layers of cloth bundled around her.

What had she done? Stories of those lost in Dusk spun through her mind. “Some fear the night, or wolves, or knives,” her mother quoted often, “but the worst is not darkness, it’s the fading light.”

The bat alighted on her shoulder and she squeaked. It just preened its wings. “You’re not dead,” it said.

She swallowed. So, the tales held some weight. The bats could talk in Dusk. “I want my dadin.” Speaking felt strange here, as if someone had stuffed cotton in her mouth.

“Who-zat?”

“He just—hey, you should know. An old man. He just came in here.”

“You can’t go far in here. He might have crossed the bridge, now.”

“Can you take me to him? Please. I just want to see if he gets where he wants to go.” She paused. “I’ll feed you strawberries from our garden.”

The bat rustled its wings. “Might be able to swing it. I could take you to someone who would know.”

“That’d be great. Do you—do you have a name?”

“Fiu for now.”

“Shiyal.” She almost held out her hand but stopped herself. Bats didn’t shake hands. “How do I find him?”

Fiu squeaked as if laughing. “You don’t find anything in Dusk. You can’t see, human. ’S why you all lose your way in here.”

“But you can see. You fly in and out all the time.”

“We see change. ’S the only way to travel in here.” Fiu glided off Shiyal’s shoulder and flew in a circle. “Look at the swirls. Look at how the colors swoop and dive.”

Dusk shifted, and the sunlight filtered through in a whole new way, churning the shadows like silt at the bottom of a riverbed. The curtains of invisible pressure around her eased and a forest—no, an orchard—came into focus. The trees budded as she watched, flowering and opening into fruits, while others dropped their leaves and became barren as if in winter. A stone path showed where darkness had crouched before, a path she rambled all the time. It led to the town a few miles away.

“I do! I see!”

“Thassa girl,” Fiu said. “You’re a quick study. Not screaming or running like your arms are spiders.” He paused. “The other humans do that. The screaming.”

“Well, I came here on purpose. I’m not scared.” Shiyal’s heart pounded. She strode forward before the path could shift again. The muted light twined around her ankles, but the pressure stayed subdued, as if she wandered through a room filled with light, swaying curtains.

“Course, if your arms were spiders, that’d be great. I’m hungry.”

The leaves on the trees shivered in an invisible wind. Several kinds flourished here: gnarled old fruit trees, small, bendy saplings, magnificent firs. Some trees grew inches as she watched, while others did not. Their fruit bore varying stages of the seasons, some with ripe peaches or apples, others just with baby seeds curled up like hibernating squirrels. The dimness of Dusk accented different qualities in the stone path, like a new kind of softness, and transformed the sky into a question.

A stone retaining wall formed along the path. Shiyal was sliding her hand along the top, just to remind herself of solidity, when a rattlesnake, half-molted, shook its tail near her feet. She jumped back.

“Why are you in Dusssssk, human?” The snake coiled up, tasting the air. “You still have sssskin on your ssssoul.”

Fiu flapped down and landed on the retaining wall. “Just a peek, she said. Won’t stay long.”

“Better not,” the snake said. “The Dussssssk King will take you.” It stretched, and the scales split further along its length. It sighed in satisfaction.

“The Dusk King? Who’s that?”

The snake swayed back and forth, eyes darting away from her. “Looose your form, you will.”

Shiyal hesitated, then stepped a little closer. “Were you—were you once a soul?”

“Me? I’m a sssssign,” said the snake. “A guideposssst for the ssssoulssss. Becausssse the batsssss aren’t alwayssss focusssssed, you ssssee.”

“I’m focused! I’m helping her, aren’t I?” Fiu puffed out his chest.

“What’s beyond the bridge?” Shiyal bit her tongue. “Is it what my dadin always thought? Will he become someone new alongside my nanin?”

The snake stretched up, and up, and up, till it wavered in front of Shiyal’s face. “I am jussssst a guideposssst. I just point you where you want to go.”

“Fine. I want to find someone.” Shiyal clenched her fists. “Did a soul pass by, just now? An old man?”

“That way.” The snake jabbed its head, indicating the stone path.

“Thank you.” Shiyal strode on, Fiu fluttering behind.

Dusk thickened, filling the space around her. The trees all shifted again in a whirling kaleidoscope of seasons and fruits. “How are you hungry anyway, Fiu? There’s so much fruit here.”

“Oh, those aren’t for eating.” Fiu said. “They change too much. Gives us stomachaches.”

“No kidding.” She wondered if she could find her way back after.

Did it matter without Dadin? Why waste all her time living by his precious Yulasil when he wasn’t even there to guide her?

Well, her mother still wanted her around, of course.

One knobby old apple tree by the path caught her eye. It was her apple tree, the one by her house! She’d spent hours in it, knew each branch, each gnarled part of the trunk. It did not grow or shrink in height like some of the others did, but it still shifted the seasons. She swallowed. “What—how is that here?”

Fiu flapped over to it. “Ah, here we are! It is his tree.”

“He has a tree?”

“Of course. Every soul has a tree.” He snorted. “Where else would we store all your memories? Would you prefer a bush or a weed? Ungrateful humans—”

Shiyal trotted over to the tree, placing her hand on the trunk. Its leaves shifted to green, and the blossoms changed to small, hard apples.

The pressure of Dusk ceased. The orchard vanished. Clear morning light shone down on her house, on the ratty old porch. Her mother cried on the steps, and her dadin had wrapped his frail, mottled arms around her.

Shiyal froze.

Was this—

No, of course not. Little things clued her in; the sunlight held a sepia tone, a slight blurriness swirling out of the corner of her eye.

“Dadin?” Shiyal hesitated before the porch steps. Her mother clutched a photo in her hands.

A man called from inside the house. “Shiyal!”

Dadin’s knuckles whitened on her mother’s arm. Shiyal stopped. She’d almost forgotten what her father’s voice sounded like since he’d left. Or perhaps she’d hoped she’d forgotten. The photo showed the four of them at the fair, smiling. Two years ago.

Her father pushed through the door, gripping a suitcase. “She up in that tree again?”

Her mother stared at the picture.

He slammed a fist against the porch railing. Her mother and dadin jumped. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t choose this.”

“You’re choosing now,” her dadin said.

“You blame me for everything. The girl just had to lie once!” He leaned against the doorframe and groaned. “I could’ve won twenty gold that hand. Could’ve turned everything around. But she went and snitched to the dealer, and now I can’t pay those men back.”

“She did the right thing, like it teaches in the Yul—”

“Like I need someone else reading that damn book.” Her father strode down the path, the sunlight framing his broad shoulders.

Her mother buried her face in dadin’s shirt. He stroked her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sometimes you have to let them go.”

Dusk fell again, erasing the scene in swirls and eddies of light and dark. It pressed against her now with purpose. Her dadin’s tree waited next to her. Tears slid around her nose and it itched. She wiped her face. Fiu fluttered down onto the path, craning his neck up at her.

“That wasn’t my dadin,” she said. “That was just his tree.”

“The snake points where you want to go.”

“The snake lied then.” Shiyal sniffed, then knelt in front of Fiu and held out her hand. “Please tell me. What’s past the bridge?”

Fiu squeaked and arched his neck so she could scratch his chin. “You can’t ask me questions like that. ’S’not proper.” He chirped. “Get it? Snot?”

She rolled her eyes and hovered her hand next to his chin. “Oh, no. My hand’s so tired.”

Fiu rustled his wings. “’S a lie. Shouldn’t do that, and all, according to your dadin.”

“Can you at least take me to the bridge, where we know he’ll go?” She tapped her finger on his head. “Soooo many strawberries in that garden of ours, all hidden away behind that wire mesh. I could open it for you.”

“Mmmmmmm. Alright. That’s not against the rules. ’S long as you don’t cross. Cause you’d die.”

She scratched his chin. “Good bat.”

Fiu led the way. She had to push through Dusk now, as if it swaddled her, forcing her to mince along. Something shifted in the darker shadows off the path, and she sidestepped as a flow of nighttime streamed by. Fiu flapped through it and grew as tall as her waist.

“Hey! What just happened?”

“The bridge lies close.” Fiu’s voice had deepened, and his eyes reflected golden-honey, unblinking. “There.”

She followed the direction of his outstretched wing. A long, wooden bridge stretched into the ever-shifting Dusk. This bridge led to the town during the day, but it, as with everything else in this place, seemed different. The grayness of the sky lent the old oak boards a kind of luster, a subtle radiance, and the forest at the edge seemed to reach towards the other bank, towards a part of Dusk that swirled so heavy, it blurred the other side. One of the trees, a small apple sapling, shrank to a sprout, then grew again, never reaching past four feet high. That’s my tree. She recognized it as if she had looked in a mirror. It fascinated her for a moment, until movement on the bridge drew her gaze.

Dadin hobbled across. His body had lost substance—it seemed formless and a part of the ever-shifting shadows—but it was him.

She charged to the edge of the bridge. “Dadin, wait!”

He swiveled around. “Shiyal? You shouldn’t be here.”

“Wait! Don’t go.” She covered her mouth. “Please don’t go.”

“Shiyal—”

“What will I do without you? I’ll just become a liar and a cheat like father.” She stepped onto the bridge. “Let me come with you. Dusk isn’t so bad. Death shouldn’t be much worse, right?”

He sent her a gentle, faint smile. “I wanted to enter Dusk for many years, after your nanin died. I stayed for you.” He was more voice than body, now. “It’s your turn to stay.”

“But—but if I don’t come with you now, what if I don’t end up alongside you when it is my turn?”

Dusk swallowed him up and smiled like a cat licking its whiskers. She stepped on the bridge. “No! No! Wait!”

Behind her, Fiu intoned in a deep bass, “Another soul for you, my King.”

She whirled. Fiu had grown to the size of a man, wings outstretched like a canopy over the bridge entrance, over her.

“Fiu! What are you doing?”

“I am not Fiu any longer. I am Havor, the Dusk King.”

She spun back around in a panic. “Dadin! Come back!”

Dusk pooled at the middle of the bridge, filling up a mold like water in a pitcher. It formed into Havor. “He is gone.”

“No! You tricked him into leaving! You have to give him back!”

Havor grew larger, the size of a tree, and stalked towards her from the middle of the bridge. It shook under his weight. “Do you want to know what lays beyond?”

“You’ll just lie to me too! He did everything for—for what happens after. And he doesn’t even know if it’ll work. It’s not worth it, living like that.”

“I don’t lie. It is against the rules.”

“That’s a lie! You brought me here to take me to death, didn’t you? To eat me!” She wiped at her face. Back on the bank, her tree shifted seasons and the sky whispered hints of starlight.

“The trees reflect the change of the soul,” Havor’s deep bass rumbled above her, closer. Hungry. “Each tree bears a fruit of belief, then of doubt. They grieve, then rejoice. Some go through many seasons and bear different fruit at the same time. This is normal.”

A wing brushed her cheek, and she looked up. The Dusk King’s form held an intense pressure, as if he had contained all of Dusk inside himself. It seemed like, if she scratched his chin or ruffled his fur, he would snap and smother her and gobble her up. His eyes blinked golden yellow. “Do you want to know what lays beyond?”

She swallowed. Back in the daytime, Dadin’s apple tree needed pruning. And her mother—her mother would worry, and wonder, and never know, just like how they both had never known what happened to her father.

The worst is not darkness. It is the fading light.

She glanced back to her tree. “My tree would stop growing, right? Like Dadin’s did.”

“Yes.”

She raised her chin. “I’ll go back.” She tried to breathe in deep, but so close to Havor, she couldn’t inhale much air. “I did promise to feed you strawberries, didn’t I? I didn’t lie.”

His eyes flipped back to green. He shrank back down, down, until he was just a normal bat again. The pressure of Dusk on her soul eased.

“Let’s go back,” Fiu said.