I woke to more drizzling rain.
Toady was leaned forward, knees under his chin, hands clasp before his legs, his tattered clothing soaking up mud. Twigs and torn leave stuck to the frayed edges.
"Hey," I said, sitting up and stretching.
"Hello, Little Friend. Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah, thanks." I shrugged the backpack on, settling it in place. "Which way to the Archive?"
"Live Ones always in such a hurry." He reached into his pocket and held out a bag.
"I thought the point was to get out of the woods."
"It is." He shook it gently. "But AJ needs to eat so ya' can keep your energy up."
"Fine." My stomach growled as I took the bag. Embarrassment heated my cheeks and I opened it. More vegetables filled the bottom.
"AJ can eat while we walk." Toady smiled and stood straightened his clothes, and shaking loose bits of mud and leaves. He slung a bag over his thin, bony shoulders and looked around.
"The Archive is this way," he said pointing. "Toady's house is that way."
"Okay," I said, eating a piece of broccoli as I walked. The food brushed off the last bit of sleep, and my thoughts cleared.
Trees blurred together forming a uniform lump of tangled branches and decayed moss. My eyes watered, and feet hurt. Toady kept pace, hand still loosely resting on my shoulder. A yawn tumbled out as a root tugged my foot. Toady's grip kept me standing, and I leaned against his side.
"How about we let AJ take a break?" Toady patted my shoulder. "It's a long walk even when you know the Dead Woods' secrets."
I found a spot to sit and rest, leaning my back against the trunk of a gnarled old tree. The fabric of my jacket snagged against the rough bumps and canals, and bits of bark flaked off, fluttering to the muddy ground.
I settled my backpack in my lap. Damp coarse canvas smeared caked on mud across my jeans. Moss and ripped leaves clung to the fabric, obscuring my name. Mom had scrawled it across the back after I'd lost the first one.
I picked off bits of moss, the gray strands breaking into smaller pieces and leaving a broken trail of mossy victims behind. It stuck to my fingers, and I wiped it on my jeans.
Thirsty, I tugged on the zipper. It caught, stuck on the dirt snagged between the zipper's teeth. Using my pocketknife, I dug the worst out, and the zipper stuttered open.
An old canteen, outer fabric brittle and frayed, lay atop several small burlap bags.
"What are these?" I asked, giving one bag a soft shake.
"Open them and see."
I upended it, and a fist size beet tumbled into my hand.
"Thanks." It tasted like dirt.
Toady nodded. "AJ needed more food and Ol'Toady could provide that."
"What's the Archive like?" I asked between bites.
Toady shrugged and trailed his fingers over the leaves. A small mound gathered in his wake, a leafy dam holding back mud.
"It was a place of great knowledge," he said. "Those who gathered there collected information and artifacts."
"Why?" I finished off the last of the beet, purple juice staining my fingers.
"Because they could, I guess," he said. "They never told us residences anything, and Ol' Toady wasn't allowed in the main buildings, just the courtyards."
"Well, that doesn't help me." I took a drink and put the canteen back into my bag.
"I'm sorry," he said. Toady straightened his shoulders and folded his hands in his lap. "Their secrets are not for the dead to know."
A laugh startled free, the image and tone perfect imitations of a few of the teachers I'd left behind. My throat twisted a second later. Laughter was rare, etched onto the endangered list of things I used to do.
"Are they still alive?" There was a way out. This journey wasn't just a futile search. I could go home.
"I don't know." Toady's shoulders sagged and he fiddled with the buttons on his jacket. "It's been a long time since Ol'Toady visited. None of the dead are allowed near it now."
"Why?"
"It was always just a place for the living," he said. "Then Black-Eyed ones came, and they joined with the ones like the Mayor."
Annabelle and Amelia's words sang through my thoughts.
"I wonder, do his bones crunch too?"
The monster that tore into Toady's house, body gnarled and broken, voice wriggling like maggots.
"Tis been forever since I've tasted a Live One."
I shook the phantoms away, taking a deep breath, and loosened by grip on the backpack. I stood and settled it across my back.
A few ghostly phantoms remained; the sister's soft giggles a faint echo.
He started twisting his cuffs again. He was nervous. The realization startled me, and I stumbled slightly over a root. Toady could get nervous. Worry slithered through the holes and I shivered, shoving my hands into my pockets.
We walked for several more hours, stopping on occasion so I could rest and eat. The world stayed dark, the only light coming from Toady's lantern. The beam grew weaker, the bright light fading to a waning yellow before flickering and going out.
"Shit." The flame was out.
"Ya' shouldn't say stuff like that," Toady said, wagging one wrinkled finger. "I've been told it's rude."
"Whatever." I kicked the mud. "Can you relight it?"
"No, it only had a little oil and Ol'Toady let it burn longer than he should have."
"Why'd you do that?"
"It helped AJ feel better." Toady tilted his head. "What are ya' doing?"
I slowly inched my way along the path, the shadows gathering to conceal the ground.
"The light's out." I stumbled over a rock, cursing. "I can't see."
"Yes, ya' can." Toady laid a gentle hand on my arm. "Remember the shack?"
"You mean that weird vision thing?"
"Yes," he smiled. "You could see the door. That means you can see through the shadows."
"But..." I rubbed my head, dirt scraping skin. "I don't know how to keep it up."
"What did you do at the shack?" he said.
I frowned. "I let my eyes go blurry."
"Do that again." Toady smiled.
I took a deep breath. If it would help me get home, I'd do it. "Tell me what to do again, please."
"No need for Little Friend to ask," Toady said. "Just let relax."
I did as Toady asked, Sheryl's yoga lessons echoing. Hands clenched together, jaw tight. I pushed fear fueled thoughts aside, and concentrated on just breathing. Sheryl's voice echoed through my thoughts. Breathe in, one, two, three. Breathe out, one, two, three. Repeat.
Minutes ticked by measured by the beating of my heart. I opened my eyes, the world blurring at the edges. Trees and rocks shifted, doubling, tripling in some spots, an ache pulling at my forehead. A river of mist twined through the forest, then vanished, the ache pulling the darkness in.
"Shit." I shook my head and stomped a few paces away. I wanted to hit something, to strike at the world and hurt it. "I can't do it."
"Yes, ya' can," Toady stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. "Relax and look."
Feeling stupid, I tried again. Sheryl's yoga mantras rang through my head.
"Breathe. Find your inner peace."
"I wonder, do his bones crunch too?"
Annabelle and Amelia's voice sang in my head and I hugged my arms around my chest. They were gone though, so it shouldn't matter.
I closed my eyes again.
Warmth glided over my skin, and welled up through my chest. I focused and it swirled in my mind's eye. It chased away the dark thoughts and a sense of home settled around me. The cold drifted away, and my teeth stopped chattering.
The tips of my fingers began to tingle as the warmth chased off the cold. Toady backed away, his chill pushed away too.
I could breathe easier and I opened my eyes. Wispy, drifting light filled the world, a glowing fog backlit with ethereal lights.
It rolled and wrapped around the trees and the rocks. Smaller paths peeked through the trees, hidden behind moss and raised roots. They lead off into all parts of the woods, new adventures waiting to be discovered. I itched to map it all, to find out what lay at the end of those paths.
"Whoa."
"What is it?" I ran my fingers along the light. It flowed in lazy waves around my hand, like water rolling in a stream.
"It's energy." Toady smiled and waved his arm. It rolled away from him, and shadows gathered near him, a cold blanket closing around him. "It is part of the magic that holds this world together. Once ya' learn more, you'll be able to use it."
"Awesome." I grinned, bouncing slightly. "How do I do that?"
"The Archive holds those answers," Toady said. "Though Little Friend must be careful. Any magic ya' use, the energy will come from ya' instead of the world."
"And that could hurt me."
He tapped his head. "Ya' feel it even now, here, doncha ya'?"
"Yeah."
Light dimmed in the cold air, and the ache faded to a dull pull. We started walking, Toady leading.
"It just takes practice."
I kicked a rock. "Well, practice sucks."
We came around a bend and the forest ended. Greenish fog, thick and churning, masked the world beyond. A long wooden suspension bridge stretched out , disappearing into the rolling mass. Moss curled around the rope handrails in green tinted fringe. Wooden slats jutted out of the sides like jagged teeth. Light flickered in tiny pinpricks, lighting up the coiling fog like lightning bugs twinkling on a spring evening.
"Can you see anything?" I asked.
"Hang on." Toady slipped onto the bridge, and vanished into the fog.
I huddled into the jackets. The misty rain had stopped, and this area of the Dead Woods was dry, but water still bogged down my clothes and fabric clung to my skin.
The slight warmth helped keep the worst of the shivers at bay, but cold wind stung my cheeks, and cracks split my lips. I pulled out the old canteen and took a drink.
"The Mayor's city is just up ahead," Toady said, emerging from the fog a specter in a gray world.
"Right." I pushed down the unease. It was just a bridge. There was no lurking monster, no weak rope waiting to snap.
I placed on foot on the wooden slat and gripped the thick rope.
Oh, God. Don't look down.
A glance to the left and spindly hands, translucent and fading, broke through, reaching out to brush against the rope.
"Shit." I scuttled back, breath hitched and lungs frozen. The hands drifted back, replaced by others, some reaching the rope, others grazing nothing but air.
Toady gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about the lost. They cannot hurt you. Tis' a sturdy path despite the Mayor having built it," he said. He nudged me forward.
"Okay." I took a deep breath and inched along. The bridge didn't sway, the ropes stretched taunt across the void.
"Are they like the ones in the river?" A delicate hand curled inches away from the hand rails. Fog swirled through the hand, the fingers unable to disturb the air around it.
"Yes," Toady said. "They used to not be here, but the Mayor used them to cut off the Archive from the Dead Woods. This is the only way to reach it."
Lights still twinkled and danced around us, grasping hands reaching out and dissipating into fog. Toady made no comment on my slow pace, his hand a steady weight on my shoulder.
After spending so long in the silence of the woods I almost missed the sounds, the chatter, and bustle of a busy city. Only brief notes reached my ears, but it was all familiar, the merged voices of the populace, and the clattering of wheels on roads.
I stopped, fingers tightening on the handrails. It was wrong hearing it in a place like this. Dead things lived here. They ate the living, and something so normal didn't belong.
"The Archives are on the other side," Toady said. "Ya' have to cross another bridge to get to it."
I sped up my pace, heart racing with each breath.
"AJ," Toady said, gnarled fingers closing around my arm. "The city is dangerous."
"I know, you told me." The tension rose as the fog closed in around us. He leaned closer, shadows drawing across his large, round eyes. "Toady?"
"I..." His shoulders slumped and he let go of my arm. His gaze drifted to his toes. Long fragile strands of white hair obscured his. "I used to be like those in the city." He looked up, sorrow filling in the spaces left by the shadows. "In order for AJ to get through the city, Ol'Toady might have to pretend to be that again."
"What?" Fear slick and cold coiled around my chest, tightening into a painful knot. "Can't we just go around?"
The warmth slipped and the light flickered out. Cold gray left ice along my skin and pricked my throat.
"It's been so long since I've tasted a Live One."
"No. The Mayor turned the Archive into an island in the middle of the fog," he said. "He couldn't reach it, so he made sure no one else could either."
"Then we'll just be sneaky," I said, biting my bottom lip.
"Ol'Toady did bad things. Little Friend just needs to know that this, will all be a lie, like the one the Dead Woods tells to fool those who don't know its tricks."
"Then how did you learn about the Archive?" I asked.
"I attacked a Guardian, and she showed mercy."
I nodded, my words stuck in my throat. The anger gave them a bitter taste.
"Okay." I started down the bridge, footsteps heavy. "I guess we better hurry."
"Stay small and quiet," Toady said.
I nodded and slowly crept closer, stepping off the bridge and out of the fog. The Mayor's city spread out before us in a shallow valley. We walked down the path, Toady a few paces in front, and me with my hands in my pockets and head down. The buildings were big, with white walls and foggy windows. Thatched roofs tinged green. People-- dead, decayed, looking people crowded the streets. Their clothes tattered; threadbare things that weren't fit to be rags. Bony hands clutched bags and purses. Wispy hair drifted around drawn, skeletal faces with yellowed, cloudy eyes.
Wobbly carts rattle down cobbled roads, jouncing from side to side, and led by horses decayed and shrunken, skin pulled tight over knobby bones. Brittle manes brushed against flecked hide, the short hair a broken patchwork of dulled color. Their hooves were cracked, and flaked as they walked.
Revulsion clenched my stomach and it rolled. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. A shiver danced along my spine, my skin tried its best to crawl away. I wished I could follow.
I glanced at Toady. He was different. He'd been kind to me, and given me a place to rest, and food to eat. The beings in the city would only be too happy to eat me.
I grimaced and squared my shoulders. I could do this. Be small and quiet. I'd perfected that over the last six months.
Toady went ahead, slipping into the city like a missing piece to a puzzle. I gathered up a palm full of dirt and smeared it over my face and hands, adding more to the layer already there. The dirt still clinging to my clothes gave them a ragged look similar to what these monsters were wearing. I pulled up the hood to my jacket, letting it hide my face.
I started towards the heart of the Dead Woods.
A huge gray building, fancy enough to be a palace, rose above the city. Tall rusted streetlights lined the sidewalk, tiny flames dulled by grimy glass globes. The other buildings sprawled out around it, and roads snaked between. Toady's hand grazed my arm and I glanced up.
"That's the Mayor's home."
I nodded and we turned away, our backs to the looming structure. No one paid us any mind; they just went about their business, going from shop to shop, talking to each other. Their voices ranged from raspy to low growls, their topics of conversation normal.
More carts puttered by jangling and rocking. Boxes slid and clattered against the sides, covering the clomping of skeleton horses.
Odd, mix matched stones made up the sidewalks. Smooth, rounded edges jammed against cracked stone. A thin, dusty spider web filled the crevasses.
I stopped and ran my fingers over the stones. Toady paused one store down, pretending to peer through the dulled glass. The more I wiped the more the cracks came into focus. Numbers appeared—1898, 1905, 1762—all carefully chiseled into the stones.
I rubbed just above the numbers. Letters peeked through, slowly forming words. I read names, and heartfelt words—Beloved Husband, Mother, Sister, Friend.
The stones were gravestones.
Upon closer inspection of the buildings, I found more names and dates on the bricks. The whole city was made out of gravestones.
The crumbling stones of the graveyard I'd found now made sense. These monsters had violated it, taken what didn't belong.
Sickness coiled my insides and I turned away. I caught Toady's glance, the sorrow adding wrinkles to his face.
"We took what we wanted," he said when I reached his side. His voice stayed whisper soft, carried on a delicate breeze. "It was all to prove we ruled this land and any who came into it."
"Did you...help?" The words tumbled out and added to the dust on the streets.
"Yes."
Ducking back into the crowd, I kept my head down and tried to look like I belonged. Toady followed a step behind. The jumbled, mashed-up words on signs above doors and on lamppost didn't make sense.
The carved black letters read Hodge Mill, Sand Write, and one even had Black Block above its door. Peeking into dirty windows only offered vague answers. Apparently, Black Block carried clothes. They were ragged, hole filled and discolored.
"The Dead Ones want so badly to be real again," Toady said. "It's why we stayed. Ol' Toady now knows the price was too high."
"Is that why the city is here?"
"Yes."
The bricks below that window said Bart Davis—1924, the second date missing. Maybe Bart owned the store.
A group of guards started herding people indoors. Their wrinkled skin was splotchy and discolored like bleached leather. Their clothes, all identical moth-eaten, old military uniforms. Brass buttons hung by threads, and frayed laces barely held boots closed.
Long, dark wooded clubs dangled from their waist, and all had one hand resting on the pommel.
I ducked into an alley, hiding behind a pile of crates, and sunk into the shadows. Two guards walked passed, their chatter fading. A hand clasped my shoulder from behind, and I jerked away, scuttling towards the opposite wall.
A guard eyed me, thin lips drawn back in a rictus grin. Another two stood a few yards off, eyes scanning the opposite end of the alley.
"What have we got here?" she asked.
Tangled, brittle hair hung in patches, the ends reaching down to his chin. Short tuffs decorated the other's guard's head like a patchwork buzz cut. She leaned forward, cold breath drifting across my cheek, and sniffed.
The guard drew back and turned towards her partner. "I think it's a Live One."
I stayed quiet, watching the guard's movements. My hand crept slowly towards my pocket and slipped inside, my hand closing over my pocketknife. I eased open the blade, careful not to cut my fingers, and waited for the two guards to come closer.
"I'm not," I said, cringing at the trembling in my voice. I wondered where Toady was. "I'm newly dead and haven't had a chance to get all shriveled yet."
The second guard shook her head and the others hissed in laughter.
"Nope," she said, her voice brittle like the rest of her. "Live Ones smell of blood. Dead Ones don't have that anymore."
Their bony hands reached out to grab me. I whipped my arm out, slashing the small blade at their eyes. They reared back, hands covering their faces. The tiny blade caught and tore through the sleeves of one jacket. Their guttural cries of alarm filled the night. I took off running, not bothering to see if they were chasing me.
My backpack bounced against my legs, stuttering my steps and slowing me down. I turned right when I reached the other end of the alley, darting around startled citizens and guards alike. Where was Toady?
Pausing briefly, I hiked my bag higher, and pushed to run faster, looking for a place to hide. The guards' heavy boots clomp-clomp-clomping as they closed the gap.
Hands clamped down on my arms and lifted. I kicked and screamed, stabbing with the small blade. It sank into dead skin and ripped at clothes, but the guard held tight.
Unyielding iron gripped my arms, sharp nails digging into the skin. The knife dropped and clattered along the ground.
"No!" I kicked and screamed, tearing at clothing and skin. My vision blurred around the edges, a spiky lump stuck in my throat. The knife, red and scratched, Dad's knife, disappeared from sight.
He slung me over a bony shoulder and carried me through the streets. The Dead Ones still on the streets stared at me, yellow eyes looking at me as if I were a museum exhibit.
I pounded on the guard's back, ripping at holes in his coat. Fabric shredded and flaked, fluttering to the ground. The hand over my legs tightened its grip and I bit off the yelp of pain it caused.
They reached their destination, and the guard dropped me to my feet. Cracked stone steps led up to battered double doors. Paint peeled from the panels, and the knobs speckled with rust. Dust crusted over windows, the stone of the walls as gray as the guard's skin.
He dragged me into the building.
Rotten beams propped up sagging thatched roofs. Green moss dangled like skeletal fingers. Rusted sconces hung from dull white walls, lit candles blurred behind the glass, and thin, frayed carpet covered the floors. It might have been blue at one time, but dust and stains turned black with age masked most of the fabric. Mold and mildew scented the air.
More guards filled the space, all eyes on me. To them I was a five star meal and they hadn't eaten in days. They whispered together in packs of predatory creatures waiting to attack.
They took me into an empty room. The floor creaked and slanted towards the side. Tears decorated the walls, showing off the moldy wooden frames. One sconce hung upside down next to a wide crack, the candle sitting upright due to its base of melted wax. Another guard took away my backpack and searched me before they led me through some double doors and down a dark hallway. Nothing hung on the walls to light the way. Rickety cell doors lined the walls.
Smashed gravestones tiled the floor and walls. Thick, old wood, framed by scrap metal, made up the bars of the cells, the knobs in the branches not quite smoothed out
Some were empty, while others contained huddled figures, emaciated bodies and faces dominated by blank eyes. People, alive like me, locked away, waiting to become something's meal. The guard shoved me into an open cell at the end of the hall.
I stumbled, hands scraping as I fell to my knees. The cell door thudded shut. A small bit of light cast long warped shadows across the floor, grasping fingers, bloated and gnarled, just like the monster at Toady's house. The scent of human waste and decay burned my nose and throat. Ivory colored bars covered the small window.
The walls and roof held the same patch work of cracked gravestones, letters too worn to read.
Clearing a spot, I sat huddled in the corner, arms around my knees. My eyes stung, and a weight burrowed into my chest. Closing my eyes, I tried to find that warmth, to bring that light into the cell, but it wriggled from my grasp and disappeared.
Some Guardian I turned out to be. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see mom again, and listen to Sheryl hum while she cooked. School was over for the year, and I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to Danny.
I sniffled and wiped my nose, burying my face into my arms. The old coat smelt like earth and dust, like Toady.
Where was he?