Chapter 1—Too Deep


I had finally found the source of the wail that cut my normally-quiet life.

Nestled between a rusted gray pan and a towering blue cabinet was a pale pink bundle, beating its fists against the cloth and shrieking. Dark brown eyes were brimming as they gazed at me, pleading, then looked down. I crouched beside the fuzzy head, biting my lip. I hated these finds. I hated finding live things that couldn’t fend for themselves.

“What do you think, Caro?” I murmured. He clung to my neck as per usual, staring at the child with lifeless eyes. I slid one arm beneath its head for support, and a moment later, I was rocking it. “Do we keep her?” Judging by the facial features, it was female. I felt the way to check for sure would infringe on the baby’s privacy.

His head shifted as I did, until his eyes were facing me. Don’t be silly. Some would say the voice was in my head—but to me, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought his stitched-shut mouth had actually spoken the words. You barely forage enough to sustain yourself. A baby? You’d just watch it die. Caro paused a moment, and his tone was more careful when he added, And what would you do with it when you fly?

For the first time in eleven months I shoved him off of my shoulders. He landed straight in the dust, inches away from the infant. It coughed in the haze that had arisen, blinking its eyes in bafflement. But mine were fixed on the lifeless form of Caro, lips quivering. “I would do something,” I whispered. I knew he heard me, even if he was face-down in the dirt. “I—we would manage.”

Long seconds fraught with tension passed before he replied, And what would you do with me?

I screamed. I leapt to my feet and screamed at the sky that had brushed my cheeks just minutes ago. I screamed, and all that bounced back was the faded echo of myself. None of the others were near—it was just Caro, the baby, and me.

Ignoring the fat drops rolling down my cheeks, I stormed forward, scooped Caro into my arms, and ran away, leaving the baby to shriek in solitude.

“Someday,” I growled harshly, feet skidding behind me, “I’m going to leave you there. Someday I’m going to find a baby and I’m going to take and raise it and you’ll be the one in the dust.”

The moment the words left my lips, I regretted them. But it was too late. His head bobbed atop my shoulder with the rhythm of my body, and it was almost a minute before he answered. His expression was ever the same, but I could always tell his feelings from his voice. This time, it was sad and deep.

Would you really do that, Elsa? Would you abandon me again?

My eyes squeezed shut. I wasn’t afraid of running into anything; objects kept to the sides of the road for the next few miles.

I could still remember the day I’d found him. I was only three years old. I’d been raised and nurtured by a shadow for the first two years of my life—they were quite fond of infants, though once the kids got older they were more fond of their flesh. I’d wandered away from my ‘mother’, and I couldn’t find my way back to her. Instead of the woods I’d grown accustomed to, I was sat straight in the middle of an un-bending road that ran forever in each direction. Objects were piled high on either side, some dirty and broken, some seemingly new. What stood out to my toddler mind was the battered white bear, with a sewn-shut mouth and eyes facing right my way. I waddled over and picked it up in my bare hands, running it through my fingers. My chubby hands stiffened in surprise when I heard the quiet voice asking What is your name?

Somehow, I knew it came from the toy in my arms.

“Elsa,” I murmured shyly. That was what Shadow Mother had always called me. “Who’re you?”

Caro. Maybe it was just the shifting of the wind, but I thought I felt his nose rub against my palm. Why don’t we be friends?

From then on, I’d walked this road of forgotten things and never once looked back.

“Of course not, Caro,” I sighed. My steps had slown—my legs felt leaden, burdened. Caro’s two pound weight felt like a thousand elephants resting in my arms. “Time to set up for the night.”


As soon as we entered the woods, I felt Caro’s body stiffen against me. He couldn’t move all by himself, but somehow, whenever he was afraid, or affectionate, or despondent, something seemed to do the job for him. At the moment, judging by the low buzzing in my mind, he was afraid.

“It’s okay, Caro,” I soothed. “You know the Shadows don’t come out this far. They’re deep inside.” Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could conjure up an image: broken trees, rain-soaked ferns, roiling black masses seething around me. One bent over, stroking my chin. But then I would blink, and it would go away.

His body had relaxed some, but the buzzing in my mind had turned sour.

If you remember, he said quietly, I would know too.

I hunched my shoulders, still walking. We’d never really discussed it, but I’d found out years ago that Caro didn’t appear by the side of the road. For whatever reason, he appeared deep in the forest, in Shadow territory. I’d never asked how he made it to the road, and he’d never explained; it was one of those things one knew not to bring up again. My thumb traced soothing circles in his head as we moved on.

The trees nearest to the road were beautiful. They were young and alive, only stretching twenty to thirty feet into the air. Their golden-green leaves always rustled when Caro and I came in, as though they were greeting me, telling me I’d be safe if I stayed amongst them. The further in I went, the taller the trees became. Dewdrops and sap clung to their bark like tears, and the leaves darkened, a warning. Don’t go on. Stay back. We’re not friendly. We usually heeded their warning.

A rough scraping sound came to my attention. It seemed to originate from the tree behind us. I spun around slowly, clinging to Caro even more tightly than before. His mental voice squeaked, but I paid it no heed. My eyes had narrowed in on the slender white tree, and the patch of black behind it.

Then the originator of the sound trotted out, and I relaxed. It was Mote.

The dog rubbed up against my side, his short, bristly black hair reminiscent of my own raven bob. His tail wagged slightly, but he was careful to make sure it didn’t thwack me in the legs.

Did I scare you? he snorted, shifting back and forth. Despite the thick lips, lolling tongue, and glistening teeth that showed he did, indeed, have a mouth to speak from, the voice sounded in my head, not my ears.

Caro tilted forward; I spun him around so he was facing Mote.

You scared Elsa, he said crisply. Not me, of course. He spoke to Mote with the same tone as he spoke to me—quiet, adult-like, affectionate. I considered him my best friend; sometimes I wondered if he considered Mote and me his children.

I had met Mote shortly after my first encounter with Caro. A couple of days after I’d found him, Caro told me he wanted me to meet someone. With me doing the walking, he guided me to a niche in the wall of cast-aways, and there lay Mote. Mote was, he’d said, the one that had kept him company for weeks once he’d reached the road. The two had lain side by side for days on end. At first, Caro confided, Mote had been unable to speak. But after a few days the dog had begun to converse. They sat there, talking, waiting for someone to find them.

And then you came, Caro would always say.

Mote wasn’t always with me like Caro was—he would amuse himself by trotting through the objects, searching for something worthwhile. If he found a pretty bauble, or a useful tool, he’d bring it back to me. If he found food that escaped me—food he couldn’t or wouldn’t eat, like berries and legumes—he would drop it in my lap, panting. But he could often be found trotting by my side, feet pounding the dust.

Good, Mote chuckled. He turned to me. Scavenging? It was his word for searching for edible plants. I called it gathering, only because scavenging reminded me of dead animals. Knowing what he meant, I nodded.

Then I’ll come with you.

Smiling, I continued forward. My eyes scanned the brush for signs of edible life—fruits, vegetables, leaves, something I could eat without throwing up. It seemed to be one of those days, though. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find anything. Even Mote, snuffling beside me, came up with nothing. His tail flopped apologetically—I patted his head, assuring him I wasn’t upset. My stomach cramped in hunger, disagreeing. The last food I’d eaten was a squishy banana Caro spotted on the side of the road ten hours ago.

Are you— Mote paused, and I stopped beside him. His hesitant tone had caught my attention. Are you sure you won’t eat animals? There’s a squirrel nearb—

“No.” I cut across before he could finish his statement. Instead of firm like I wanted it to be, my voice was quivering. I’d told them from the start—I would not eat animals. I couldn’t shake the thought that the creature I was eating might be able to talk. Like Caro, who wasn’t even an animal; like Mote, padding beside me; like Licco, the bird I flew with; or maybe Meir, the rabbit Caro had found a few weeks ago. All of them were as smart as me. Eating them would be like eating a human. Not that I’d met any other humans beside babies.

Alright. His tone was hushed, subdued. I knew he thought I was foolish for taking hunger over the life of a small animal, but he wouldn’t outright say it.

I didn’t notice how far we’d gone until one immense tree blocked my path. Its bark was rough, dark, and foreboding, not the warm brown of the melted chocolate I’d found on the side of the road. The brown of an old broken chair, branches hanging down like a wilted flower, almost brushing the ground, though several broke the sky fifty feet above like a demented spire.

Elsa. This time it was Caro, and he was worried. More worried than he’d been when we entered the woods. Elsa, can’t you fly, somewhere where there’s more food?

The thought made my stomach squeeze even tighter, and my head was light at the thought of escaping these darkened trees and cutting through the air. Reality brought it down again.

“You know I can’t, Caro,” I whispered. “I have to be at full strength to get more than five feet off the ground. The way I am right now, I would barely be hovering. Besides,” I added, bending down to scratch Mote’s ears. “I wouldn’t want to leave him beside.”

Caro’s mental shrug rang clear in my mind as we pushed even further in, past the broken tree and across prickly beds of needles. Some poked through the thin cast-off sandals sheathing my feet and I cried out before zipping my lips shut.

No food? Mote whimpered. His fear was a thick presence in my mind. He wasn’t whimpering from hunger, like me; he was whimpering in terror.

My eyes swept the area once again, tired of looking so hard only to find nothing. “No food,” I confirmed. Maybe it was foolish to expect any kind of sustenance amongst the dead and cracking life surrounding me. Maybe I should just turn back. But I kept going.

Mote reluctantly followed as I continued forward. Caro’s paws were slipping on my skin, wet with perspiration. Every step I took seemed like a thousand. What I’d felt on the road was nothing. The cloak of sadness, of heaviness that I’d worn since finding that baby was nothing. I was moving through something like honey; not honey, though—honey was too sweet. I was walking through a wall of water, Mote beside me, and every step brought us closer to the end. What was at the end of a wall of water?

Elsa, you have to turn back. Caro wasn’t giving me an option—he was stating it. Fiercely. His voice was a shimmering bell in the back of my mind, so faint as to barely be heard. Go back? Walk through the wall of water backwards, with no food? I couldn’t.

A moment later, I came to a sudden halt. It wasn’t water anymore—it was brick. Or steel. Mote, Caro and I were trapped within walls of steel and there was no moving, no breathing, no nothing to be done as the dark shapes swirled before us.

Shadow after Shadow after Shadow. They came in a swarm, so close together it was hard to distinguish one from the other. I couldn’t count how many swooped in the clearing before us. Ten, fifty, a hundred, a thousand.

My eyes sought something familiar. I tried to find the glittering golden eyes of a Mother I’d once known, but if she was even there, she was lost in the mass of red and bronze and black, black, black.

“C-C-Caro,” I fumbled, shoving the words past numb lips. I felt him. Mote was as frozen as I, but Caro, Caro was not. He quivered atop my shoulder, vibrating in the air as thick as stone. Gritting my teeth and using every ounce of strength I had, I turned my head to face my erstwhile companion.

His fur was matted and clumped with my sweat and the moisture in the air. His ears were flattened like Mote’s when he was scared, and his mouth was as closed as ever. But his eyes, those two dark holes, seemed to glow. I thought I saw the tiniest glint of red before a burst of sound exploded behind me. I snapped my head back to see a host of Shadows leaping straight at our party of three. I didn’t have time to look at Caro again, couldn’t even look at Mote, but I did hear his voice screaming in my head.

RUN!

Chapter Two—The Fickle Night Sky


His voice tore through my mind, breaking down the barrier that had formed. It was like the steel walls enclosing me had evaporated—I was free.

And I had to run.

Mote’s head whipped back and forth, but I grabbed him by the scruff and tripped forward, gradually picking up speed. “Move, Mote, move!” I shrieked. The Shadows streaked behind us, a solid mass of black, rippling and bending, lit from within. Caro bobbed around my neck, nearly losing his grasp. As we rounded the corner, I let go of Mote and wrapped my hands around his, pulling him closer.

“Don’t let go, Caro,” I whimpered.

The trees were streaking by—had there really only been that many? I could’ve sworn I’d passed a thousand on the way here, but now, they seemed to move by in a blur, rotting branches whipping my skin. A dot of blood flew past my eyes, and I knew it was my own. Stuffed bears didn’t bleed.

The Shadows weren’t running, or flying. They seemed to float inches above the ground, tilted forward, arrowing our way. For seconds at a time, they would separate, and if I’d had the time, I could’ve counted them. But counting our pursuers wouldn’t be the brightest idea.

You have to go faster, Caro told me. His voice wasn’t chiding or impatient, not even fearful. He was just stating the fact. You have to go faster, or they’ll catch you.

I started to ask about Mote, but stopped. Mote didn’t have to worry. If he wanted to, he could’ve bounded ahead, lost me in the clinging trees. He stayed by my side out of companionship—a companionship that would get him killed.

The bed of needles that had only pricked while walking stung my feet likes knives beneath the thin leather. Mote didn’t make a sound, but I saw the pain in his eyes and knew his foot-pads weren’t faring any better.

I never should have gone that far.

The words circled ‘round and ‘round inside my head, and I couldn’t be sure if it was Caro speaking, or just me, over and over again.

I never should have gone that far.

I should’ve gone back. I should’ve listened to Caro. I could’ve scrounged along the side of the road. Sure, the food there was garbage, leftovers of a grander feast, but it beat this. It beat being chased out of the woods by creatures I hadn’t met in thirteen years.

Maybe I went for the deja vu. Maybe I expected some reconciliation, to have my Shadow Mother burst from the towering trees and wrap me in her arms, say she’d missed me.

But really, if I’d met my Shadow Mother, she probably would’ve greeted me by tearing my flesh from my bones.

The harsh sting of a branch in my eyes brought me back to reality. This branch wasn’t dark and decaying—it was of a paler wood, strong and supple. I shook my head, clearing my eyes. We’d cleared the rotting heart of the forest, and had breached the outer edges. But still the Shadows pursued us. I couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone this far. I would often gather around this area, and never once had I encountered a Shadow. The sun was too strong here, the plants too alive, everything too bright.

We’re getting closer, Elsa, Caro encouraged. Make it to the road and we’re safe. No matter what, they can’t go on the road.

Mote still remained silent—he was reserving his lungs for the run. I envied the way his long legs flexed and straightened, propelling him further in one bound than I could go in two steps. Blinking sweat and crimson tears from my eyes, I forced myself to run harder.

The sunlight hit me, a ray slanting across my face and lighting Caro’s dark eyes. The trees slowly slipped away, as though they were reluctant to let us go. The ground beneath my feet hardened and evened out. Beds of pine had turned into loosely-packed dirt, growing firmer the farther we went.

“Caro,” I breathed, so quietly even Mote couldn’t hear. “Are they still there?”

Everything was silent for a moment. I knew I was still running, I knew Mote was still sprinting, I knew the world hadn’t quieted just for me. Yet for a moment, not a sound reached my ears. He finally broke it with news I’d never been gladder to hear.

They’re gone.

My whole body was shaking. My legs were shaking, my arms were shaking, even my head seemed to whip back and forth in the breeze. I collapsed on an old, broken bed, feeling it sag beneath my weight. Mote leapt up beside me, and the thing almost collapsed. I heard the tiniest squeak of protest, and unhooked Caro’s arms from my neck.

“Sorry,” I said weakly, tilting my gaze towards the sky. Night had almost fallen—the sunlight that had greeted our return seemed almost a fluke, albeit a welcome one. Velvet hues of violet and indigo mingled in the expanse above, and all I could think as I lay there, Mote and Caro beside me, was: Thank G-d it’s not black.

“We’re staying here tonight, aren’t we?” It was one of those questions where I already knew the answer, but I still wanted to hear it. I wanted them to confirm that we were not going back into those woods, back into the reach of the Shadows. Fiery eyes flickered beneath my lids, and I shivered.

Of course, Caro and Mote answered simultaneously. Caro’s voice was soft and comforting, aimed at the both of us. Mote’s was frightened and insistent. I buried a hand in his rough black bristles, amber eyes thoughtful.

“You were excellent,” I told him softly. “Thank you. I’ve never met a braver dog.” His eyes now shone with a new light—pride instead of fear. I neglected to mention that I’d only ever met one or two other dogs, and they were unintelligent, unspeaking creatures.

“And you,” I added, turning to Caro. “I’m….” I ducked my head. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. You were right.”

His nose brushed against my arm. He wasn’t mad—that I could tell. Not your fault. My chest eased. It wasn’t my fault. Just listen next time, alright? The smile behind his words was evident.

With my free hand, I tickled the fur beneath his chin. “So you plan to be chased out of the woods by hungry Shadows again?”

The bed creaked as Mote shook with silent laughter. My lips tipped upwards in a grin at the sight of his tongue lolling madly. If there’s a next time, Caro amended. He was as amused by Mote’s antics as I.

“Better,” I sighed, leaning back. Night had fully fallen, but the sky retained its midnight blue coloring. Stars were tiny pinpricks reflected in my eyes, winking at the three of us. It was a sly sort of wink, as if they knew that a sixteen-year-old girl who’d never known another human, a stuffed bear, and an over-grown dog weren’t the most impressive of companies. But I glared back defiantly. The three of us had just outrun Shadows, and lived to tell the tale. It couldn’t get much more impressive than that.

“Do you know h-h-how they got so far?” I yawned. My eyelids felt as heavy as my limbs had back in the forest. I went to rub my eyes and my fingers came back wet. Grimacing, I wet my finger with my tongue and dabbed away the rest of the blood.

Mote shook his head, and I could feel Caro do the same. They’ve never gone that far, Caro said. He sounded more uncertain than I’d ever heard him. An image re-played itself in my mind: Caro, quivering between immovable walls as Mote and I were frozen still, his eyes shining like the Shadows’.

I blinked, and it was gone. I didn’t know why my subconscious had found that important. “Probably just a fluke.” It wasn’t true, and I knew it. But I wanted to believe it was just chance that allowed them past their normal boundaries, because if it wasn’t, I’d be living off rotten food and sleeping in the open till the day I died. And that day might come sooner, at a Shadow’s hand, if this wasn’t just a chance occurrence.

I tried to imagine how I’d lived for three years amongst that….things. Yes, I’d been an infant, but I couldn’t picture those rabid creatures huddled around a crying baby, feeding it, rocking it, whispering to it in the night. Showing it pretty pictures, stroking its cheek, teaching it its first words. Maybe my first word was ‘Momma’. Or maybe my first word was ‘Shadow.’

My bet would be the second one.

“I’m tired,” I admitted. The stroking of Mote’s fur had slowed, and the night sky was blurry before me. Despite all that had happened, despite the winking stars, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the ever-expanding darkness above. It was so rare that I got to see it, it had to be appreciated. “We should probably get to sleep.”

Caro nudged against my side, and Mote crept around the other way. Together, they would hold my dreams at bay. With my two companions beside me, I wouldn’t dream of drooping trees and Shadows and a childhood I’d somehow survived. With them beside me, I would be safe in the night. And with them beside me, I would know that tomorrow I’d be walking. I’d be walking, I’d be gathering, I might even be flying. Tomorrow there would be no Shadows.

I fell asleep with the realization that I’d never gotten something to eat.


The apple was squishy, giving easily beneath my fingers. I frowned at the spotted surface—it was a bit softer than most things I put in my mouth, and I didn’t fancy eating something that was in its prime ten days ago, but it was better than nothing. And I was hungry.

I shoved it into my mouth, cringing when my teeth sunk through the flesh and into the core. The taste was foul, sickly sweet and thick, clinging to my tongue long after it had been forced down my throat. My mind couldn’t help but drift to the crisp, bitter taste of fresh green apple I’d sampled months ago in the forest. It was like water, but better—more refreshing, bringing me to life. This thing felt more like something to knock me unconscious.

Caro and Mote watched me apologetically. I stuck a smile on my face and plucked the tomato from Mote’s teeth, wiping off the saliva with my sullied shirt. It was, like everything I owned, something found on the sides of the road—something someone had abandoned, or cast off. So I felt no shame in using it as a rag.

“Thanks for doing this, guys,” I said. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful—I just couldn’t help my facial expressions. Rotten apple was not my preference in foods.

Mote butted his head against my leg, jostling Caro, who sat against my hip. You’re welcome, he grinned. His eyes roamed free, darting from one thing to another. I’m going to go look for pretty things. Will you be okay?

A real smile appeared on my lips at his honest concern. “I think somehow I’ll manage without you for a few hours,” I laughed. His tail waved a goodbye as he trotted away.

With Mote—the supplier of my food—gone, I felt free to grimace at the tomato resting in my palm. It wasn’t as far-gone as the apple, but it had seen better days. I found three fuzzy blue spots just on the side I was observing.

“You’re lucky, Caro,” I sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to eat.”

And what would be the fun in that? he laughed. I poked his side, about to retort when heavy padding behind us caught my attention. I spun around, coming face-to-face with a dog.

I automatically thought of Mote. But I had just seen him trot off in the other direction. And this dog didn’t have Mote’s bristly black bulk—its white fur was long and hopelessly twisted, hanging in clumps around a body so thin, I could count each and every rib. Its nose, tiny and dry, twitched the nearer it came. When it was right in front of us, it leaned forward till its nose was touching my tomato.

“You want this?” I asked softly, bending down so its head didn’t have to tilt so much. It was momentarily distracted by my voice, swiping at my pants and snuffling through my choppy dark hair. Soon, though, its eyes returned to the tomato.

I realized that I expected an answer. I expected a mental Yes!, accompanied by a sense of hunger. This was what I’d grown used to, what I’d lived around for thirteen years. The dog only sat there sadly, eyes intent on my prize. The only one in my mind was Caro.

“Here boy,” I whispered. I’d determined its gender more easily than the baby. The tomato was set in front of his nose, and I soon had it plucked from my fingers. His eyes were so bright as he took it in his mouth that I could almost imagine his thanks inside my head. Then he slunk away, along with his newly acquired food.

I hoisted Caro up to my shoulder, even though the logical part of me knew I would hear him just as well from my hip. There was a question I wanted to ask.

“How come he can’t talk?” My gaze swept behind me, in the direction of Mote. “How come Mote can talk, but he can’t? How come Licco can talk, but other birds can’t? Or Meir and other rabbits? Or—“ I took a deep breath. My sentences were starting to run together. “I’ve never seen another teddy bear along the road that can think and talk. How….can you?”

Part of me expected him to answer ‘That’s none of your business’, as though I’d asked a personal question. Another part expected him to spend long minutes in silence before giving me a thoughtful, tentative guess. Not one part of me expected him to answer straight away.

Because those animals aren’t from the road, he explained. They’re from the woods. It’s—it’s the road that allows Mote to speak, and Licco, and Meir. Those from the woods would be able to if they stayed on here for long.

Then came the pause I’d been expecting. His next reply was more hesitant, more unsure. And…for me…I think it’s because I’ve spent so much time around animals, especially talking animals. I could feel him nod in my head, reassuring himself. Yes. That’s it.


I bit my lip, unwilling to argue. The explanation for the animals made sense. The one for him didn’t ring true with me, but since I couldn’t come up with any more plausible explanation, I just smiled and nodded, agreeing. When Mote caught up to us a few hours later, he slid a rusted bracelet onto my wrist with his teeth and asked me how the tomato was.

The memory of a dog prancing away, a squished red bulb in its yellow-stained teeth, came to mind. “It was great.”