Emma Hartley's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Emma landed on her knees on cold ground. The hole above her was gone. She was in a place where the sky and the ground looked the same — flat black, with a gray mist between. The shadow girl who had led her here was already moving away, small and quick, pigtails swinging. Emma called after her without a sound coming out. The shadow slipped between two black trees and did not look back. Emma stood up. Mr. Whiskers was still in her fist. Her sleeper was damp at the knees. In front of her, tall trees stood in a tight clump, branches like cracks in a window. A path ran past them, black and wet-looking, its edges smoking into the air. She did not step onto it. She turned in a slow circle and tried to find the shape of the shadow girl again. There was only mist and trees and, farther off, rows of small stones tilted in a field of black flowers. Something moved between the trees. It was not the shadow girl. It was taller. It walked on legs that were not legs, more like burnt branches. Smoke poured off its back. It had no face Emma could find, but it was turning toward her. It came slow. It came sure. Emma's chest went tight the way it did at home when a door slammed. She squeezed Mr. Whiskers with both hands and stepped back onto the smoking path without meaning to. Her bare foot did not sink. The path felt like cold paper. "Don't run, child." The voice came from her other side, low and calm. Emma spun. An old woman stood there — or the outline of one. She was all black, thin as a pencil sketch, with white hair that looked drawn on. She held up a lantern. Inside the lantern, a small warm flame burned steady. It was the only real light Emma had seen since she fell. "Behind me," the woman said. "Now." Emma moved. She did not think about it. She put the old woman between herself and the smoking thing. The lantern lifted. The flame stretched. The branch-legged shape flinched, then came on anyway, closer, close enough that Emma smelled wet ash. The woman took two steps forward and pressed the lantern against it. The thing came apart. It unraveled like yarn pulled too fast, smoke peeling into smoke, until there was nothing where it had stood. The woman lowered the lantern. She did not look proud. She looked tired. "What was that," Emma whispered. "A smoke beast. They find children who drift." The woman turned. Her face had no eyes Emma could see, but Emma felt looked at. "You came down the hole." Emma nodded. "Then you'll want to go back," the woman said. "I'm Mara. I can't take you home. But I won't leave you standing here." Emma took her hand. It was soft, and weighed nothing.