Nightfall (10 page)

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” muttered Line through gritted teeth. He had been repeating these words for hours. As he chanted his mantra, he looked up from the bottom of the rocky pit and stared at the darkened sky. The walls of the pit, which rose upward for twenty feet, were made of small stones embedded in dry earth. Line was an exceptional climber, but these walls had proved impossible to scale. He simply couldn't get a decent hold. Every time he grabbed a rock or a piece of earth, it broke away or crumbled in his hand. On one occasion, he'd made it almost two-thirds of the way up, then fallen backward. He hit the ground hard and slashed open his left forearm on a sharp-edged rock in the ground. The cut was long and deep, and really hurt.
What is wrong with me?
He had already hurt his ankle when he first fell into the pit. Now he had his arm to worry about, too.

It was hard to remember how long he'd been stuck there. Twenty-four hours? Could it be even longer? He felt his stomach churn—from lack of food or worry. Probably both. It was
supposed to have taken an hour—thirty minutes there and back. He had been careful. He'd followed the markers. He had taken no chances along the way. But despite his caution, despite knowing the way, he still tripped, stumbled, and fell into this hole—and now he couldn't get out. It must have been an old trap to hunt animals, and it had caught him.

Line studied his left arm in the dim light. He brushed away the dirt and saw blood welling from a wound that stretched almost from his wrist to his elbow. The ribbed sweater he was wearing—already frayed at the arms—had torn even farther. He flexed his fingers several times and rotated his wrist. He could still climb.

Line glanced upward at a strange-looking tree branch that jutted out over the edge of the pit. The branch was thick, round, and bulbous; in the dim light it almost looked like a human head. In fact, when Line had first laid eyes upon it—hours ago—he'd thought it
was
a person. He had even called out to it. But after the thing didn't reply, or move so much as an inch, Line supposed that it was just a branch. And yet the branch looked so weirdly human in its form that Line continued to glance up at it, half hoping and half fearing that it would move.

And then it
did
move. Well, more accurately, it disappeared. One moment it was there, and the next time he looked up, it was gone. Not long after this, Line began to hear rustling in the grassy plain above him, just beyond the perimeter of the pit.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Hey, I'm stuck down here!”

He shouted for another few minutes, then gave up and sat
in the pit. Soon, however, the noise returned, and this time, instead of shouting, he listened. There was something deliberate and calculating about the rustling. A dark silhouette appeared for a second at the edge of the pit, then vanished.

Line couldn't get a good look, but he swore the silhouette resembled a woman. Still, he'd been down in the pit so long that he no longer fully trusted his eyes. He trusted his instincts, though—and they told him there was a person up there. Why this person wouldn't help him—or even respond to him—he couldn't guess.

Line limped around the pit, looking in vain for something he'd missed. He clenched his fists and pounded them against the crumbling wall, then sank to the ground and whispered, “What am I doing here?”

But he knew the answer to that question. Despite his best efforts to act the part of the responsible parent, Line was—by his very nature—an impulsive person. It was impulse that lured him into the woods with Kana and Marin several months ago. He still recalled his elation at finding the pond in the middle of the forest—its surface as gleaming and still as a piece of darkened sea glass. He remembered the entire scene with startling clarity. Before swimming, Marin had taken off her necklace: a simple piece of jewelry consisting of a silver chain and an oval pendant. The pendant was a sunstone, a milky crystal mined from the rocky, ice-strewn isles of the Polar North.

Sunstones weren't especially pretty, but they were exceedingly rare. Sailors prized them for the way they polarized sunlight. Even on a cloudy day, you could hold a sunstone up to
the sky and use it to determine the precise location of the sun. Marin's sunstone had belonged to her paternal grandfather, who had been a storied sailor. Marin's father had given it to her on her tenth birthday, when she was first allowed to sail small skiffs on her own. Even at ten, Marin was a better sailor than many of the adults.

Before swimming in the pond, Marin unclasped the necklace, and Line inspected it before shoving her unceremoniously into the water.

Later, when Kana fell and cut his cheek, neither Marin nor Line gave another thought to the sunstone. It wasn't until Marin returned home that she realized the sunstone wasn't in her satchel. Line must have forgotten to return the necklace after looking at it.

She confronted him the next day. “I can't believe you lost my grandfather's necklace!”

Line shook his head vehemently. “No! I swear to you—I put it back in your bag.”

“Well, it's not there,” she replied, her eyes blazing.

“This isn't about your necklace,” he said. “You're upset about Kana.”

“It's not my fault,” she said as her eyes welled up with tears. “I can't stay with him every single minute.”

But they both knew that they shared blame for Kana's fall. Of course, Line had apologized, but it wasn't enough. There was no undoing it. In the ensuing weeks and months, Line began to believe that retrieving the sunstone might begin to make things right—if not with Kana, then perhaps with Marin. When
they left the island, their lives would change dramatically. Soon they would be in the Desert Lands and Marin would be in the Cloister. Alone. Line wanted her to have that stone, to feel its weight and to think of the island. Maybe even of him. And that impulse had led him back into the woods and, ultimately, right into this pit.

Line sat up.

He thrummed his fingers nervously against the dirt, and that's when he felt
it
—a short, sturdy piece of wood. Line groped around and discovered several other shards like this one. An idea came to him. He lifted a piece and tried to bend or break it. It did not—perhaps it was sturdy enough to take his weight.

Gripping two pieces of wood tightly, he began to climb by stabbing them into the soft walls of the pit and hoisting himself upward. It was arduous work and very slow going. He moved about a foot at a time, sweating and grunting as he went. Line wielded the sharp pieces of wood expertly—like daggers. He had always been good handling knives. Finally, after ten minutes or so, he was within several feet of the surface. He was almost there, but his situation was precarious. The earthen wall near the top of the pit was very loose. Bits of soil and rock began breaking away and hitting him in the face.

Line glanced down at the bottom of the pit and struggled to drive the sticks further into the wall. He grunted with the effort and looked back up. When he did, he saw it again: The silhouette of a woman peering over the edge. Her face was shrouded in shadow and appeared weirdly elongated, as if warped by a
concave mirror. Moments later, the sticks began to loosen, and Line began to slide. Suddenly, he noticed a sturdy vine dangling over the edge.
Why haven't I seen this before?
But the question was lost in a surge of adrenaline as he grabbed the vine. When he finally hauled himself up over the lip of the pit, he saw only the silent forest. The woman—if she'd even existed—was gone.

The path to the pond rose steeply, zigzagging across a series of boulders. Kana knew they were getting close. Marin leapt onto the nearest boulder and started to climb, but slipped and fell hard.

“Marin!”

Kana ran to her side. She waved him off and scrambled to her feet. Her chest heaved from the exertion of running, and sweat ran freely down her face. They paused for a minute, suddenly aware of a strangely glowing light above them. It was a perfect circle, hanging low in the Evening sky, pale white and lumpy, as if newly born.

“What is it?” asked Marin.

“The moon,”
whispered Kana. “It's beautiful.” He was breathing rapidly but wasn't spent. He stared up at the sky, entranced. His face was awash in a ghostly silver light. Both of them had heard of the moon, a celestial body which was said to cause madness, and only appeared during the years of darkness. Its light seemed magical. It was not nearly as strong as
the sun, but it was far more powerful than any torch or lantern. And unlike sunlight, it did not glare or blind Kana in the least.

They kept climbing, quickly, but with a sense of caution. When they made it past the boulders, they pushed through a swath of smaller trees and emerged into a large clearing of rock dotted with clumps of tall grass. Somewhere in the middle was the pond. Trees surrounded the clearing—except on the western side, where it dropped off into the steep canyon. The chalky white rock reflected moonlight, making it possible for Marin to see. She yelled for Line but heard nothing.

Marin started toward the canyon, squinting and craning her neck.

“He's not down there,” said Kana. He was right behind her. “This is nowhere near where you left your necklace.”

Marin glanced back at Kana's voice. “You're right. He has to be near the pond. If he got this far.”

The wind suddenly picked up. It was bitingly cold.

“LINE!” shouted Marin, as loudly as she could. “LIIIIIINE!”

They held their breath, hoping for a response.

Kana raised his arm. “I heard something. Did you?”

“No.”

He pointed toward the northern end of the clearing. “There.”

They walked that way for a minute, until they both heard a muffled shouting.

“LINE!” Kana shouted back. They ran toward the sound. Seconds later, Line appeared. His face was pale. He was leaning on a branch, half running, half limping, like an animal just released from a trap.

They raced toward him. When they were only feet away,
Line tripped and fell heavily. Kana sped forward and caught him before he hit the ground. He struggled for a second to keep Line upright, but kept his balance.

“Th-th-thanks,” Line stammered. He voice was almost imperceptible.

Marin wrapped her arms around both of them. “Line, are you okay? Did you . . . what did you . . .” She was babbling, barely aware of what she was saying.

“My brother . . . Francis. Is my brother all right?” asked Line. His cheeks were taut and his eyes were red. Specks of dirt and pine needles dotted his reddish-brown hair.

“Francis,”
Line repeated.
“Is he safe?”

Marin stared at him for several seconds, until his words finally sank in.

“Yes, he's fine,” she replied. “Scared, but fine.”

“Did the boats come?”

Marin nodded.

“Who's with Francis?” asked Line.

“He's with your neighbors,” said Marin. “Soon he'll be with you.”

“Let's go, then.” Line started to run, but tripped and struggled just to stand. Kana helped steady him and noticed the rip in his sweater and the gash on his forearm. It looked bad. He asked Line about it, but Line shook it off.

“It's just a scrape,” he said.

“That's more than a scrape,” said Kana. “You'll need to—”

BRRRRRRRRRM! BRRRRRRRRRM!

Two thunderous sounds echoed through the forest. They all looked at each other. Without another word, Kana began
running toward the path home, followed by Marin and then Line.

At the edge of the clearing, near the canyon, Kana stopped and looked back. Marin and Line were far behind. She was helping him limp along, but it was clear that Line couldn't run. Kana uttered a soft curse. His insides crawled with impatience as Marin and Line approached. Line was breathing heavily and sweat poured off his body. Up close, his mouth was set in a tight line and his eyes blinked wildly. Locks of his hair stuck wetly to his forehead.

“Kana,” said Marin. “Run ahead and tell them to wait. Just in case. Going back is always easier—we won't get lost.”

As if in response, a faint cry came from deep within the canyon. Kana looked up sharply.
Was that an animal or the wind whistling?
Kana walked over to the edge of the canyon. It was at least several hundred feet deep, and the walls were quite steep. His eyes fell upon a perfectly rectangular slab of rock, roughly thirty feet high, located midway down the opposite side of the canyon. Someone had either carved the slab out of the cliff face or placed it there. There were dozens more like this one, jutting out of the canyon walls. Farther down, he caught a glimpse of movement.

He turned back. Marin and Line were staring into the canyon.

“Are those
boxes
carved into the rock over there?” Marin said.

“I don't know,” said Kana. “ But I'm not leaving you here.”

“Why not?” she asked.

His eyes flicked back to the canyon. “I'm just not.”