Nightfall (13 page)

They didn't bother returning the box to its original place. It was too heavy to lift, and neither of them wanted to linger in the attic. They made their way to the mayor's quarters and found Line lying on a couch near the edge of the pool. He was wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. At first, Marin thought he'd passed out, but then he looked up when they entered.

“How are you?” she asked.

Line pulled down the blanket and held his injured arm out in front of him. “It still hurts, but at least I soaked it for a while.”

Marin walked to the couch and held the candle over Line's body. “Can I see?”

Line raised his arm to the light. His forearm was red and swollen, even though the wound itself looked unchanged.

“It's not getting better,” said Marin.

“I have some lekar for you,” added Kana. He motioned Marin away, then bent down to look at the arm himself.

“Hmm,” said Kana, grimacing theatrically. “I'm afraid we'll have to cut it off. Just in case.”

“Away with it, then,” replied Line with a smile.

Kana may have been joking, but he'd also voiced what they all were thinking. A condition like Line's, left untreated, could quickly turn into gangrene. Everyone on the island knew about gangrene. There was a time, several sun cycles before, when woodfern had simply disappeared. This meant there was no reliable remedy against infections, leading to numerous amputations. You could still see these old-timers—elderly men and women with missing fingers, toes, even hands. Palan, the old man they'd met on the cliffs, was one of them. His left hand had been taken after a minor cut had stubbornly refused to heal.

Kana went to the pool and scrubbed his hands with the warm water. Then he walked back to Line, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small wooden container with a metal screw top. Inside were a few ounces of the bright yellow ointment. Line nodded appreciatively as Kana applied the ointment to his wound.

“Thanks,” said Line with a sigh. He leaned back in the couch and looked up at Kana. “So—did you find anything downstairs? Any treasures?”

“No,” Kana said, a little too quickly. Line raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“I still want to barricade the door,” said Kana. “It shouldn't be too hard. Marin, could you help me move this furniture?”

“A barricade?” said Line. He yawned loudly. “Against what? The dark? Let's just sleep for a while.”

“I'd feel better if the door was locked,” said Kana. He couldn't help but shake his head at the irony. He'd been horrified when Anton had bolted the windows, dreading the thought of being
locked inside his bedroom.
And now, here I am, wanting to lock myself up. Perfect.

Line yawned again and looked at his friend. It was as if the hot water had sapped all sense of urgency from him. “Kana, come on,” said Line. “You need to take a dip. You, too, Marin. And then, if you still want, we'll do the barricade.”

“No, thanks,” said Marin. “I just want to sleep.”

Kana eyed the bathtub. It did look rather inviting. “Fine,” he said finally. He walked over to the pool, stripped to his undergarments, slipped into the warm water, and closed his eyes. Line was right—it felt amazing. After a few more minutes, he climbed out and took a towel from a neatly folded stack. He wiped his face, noticing how thick and luxurious the towel felt.
And the mayor decided not to take these? Go figure.

Kana looked around. Line and Marin were lying on adjacent couches and seemed to be sleeping already. For a moment, he considered waking them up to barricade the door, but now the idea seemed paranoid and a little silly. After all, they weren't in the forest. He dressed and sank into a plush couch. In a matter of seconds, Kana was fast asleep.

Several hours later, Kana awoke to his sister whispering in his ear. Marin's terrified face was about six inches from his. She was holding a too-bright candle that trembled wildly in her hand.

“Someone's downstairs,” she whispered.

Kana sat up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Marin. “Listen.”

Neither of them spoke for almost a full minute. There was only silence. Kana was about to tell his sister to go back to sleep
when they both heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps below—heavy, slow, and deliberate. Then came the grinding screech that meant someone had pulled a knife from the mantel. Moments later, the stairs began to creak.

“BLOCK THE DOOR!” shouted Kana. “LINE—WAKE UP!”

In a flash, Kana and Marin sprang to their feet, stumbled across the room, and grabbed hold of a wooden dresser that sat near the apartment door. Line joined them seconds later.

“What's going on?” he said.

“Footsteps,” Marin replied. “We need to move this dresser. Now.”

The dresser was heavy, but it moved. Marin, Kana, and Line all gave a final push and the dresser slid into place, blocking the doorway. The footsteps grew closer, steadily moving up the stairs. A few seconds later, the footsteps stopped and the doorknob turned. Marin, Kana, and Line pushed against the dresser with their backs against it, feet out in front of them for traction. Still, the door opened a crack, perhaps a quarter of an inch, before they were able to push the dresser back into place.

“Who is it?” yelled Line. “What do you want?”

Kana could sense his and Marin's fear. He never realized that the emotion had such a distinctive scent.

Seconds later, the door rattled in its hinges and the dresser began to slide. Whoever was on the other side of this door was tremendously strong. Kana, Line, and Marin all braced themselves against the dresser, using their legs, backs, and arms to keep it in place. It wasn't enough. The door continued to slide open and a wet, throaty grunt came from the other side.

“Come on!” screamed Line. “Harder!”

They rallied and pushed back. A moment later, the door abruptly clicked shut, as if whoever or whatever was on the other side had given up. There was a full minute of calm. They heard their adversary breathing in deep, baritone grunts. Soon, the sound of breathing was subsumed by the scrape of a sharp blade slicing into the wood on the other side of the door. The sound continued for another moment, then stopped.

The same heavy footsteps retreated down the stairs. The house fell silent.

Kana, Marin, and Line slumped to the floor, muscles twitching with exertion. None of them stirred. They just sat there in a prolonged state of shock. Finally, Marin spoke.

“What just happened?” she asked the dark room.

The two boys were silent.

“Who was that?” asked Marin.

“More like
what
was that,” said Line. “Did you hear that breathing?”

“It knew we were here,” said Marin. “It came right for us.”

“Well,” said Kana, “we weren't hiding—with the signal lamp being lit and all.”

Marin scoffed. “You think this is happening because we lit the signal lamp?”

“Stop,” said Line. “It doesn't matter. We have a problem, because they clearly know we're here.” Despite the warm pool, the room felt even colder now.

“They?”
asked Marin. “What makes you think there's more than one?”

Line stood up, exhaled, and shook the tension out of his arms.

“Just a guess,” he replied. “If there's
one
of those things living out there, it seems logical there'd be more. Question is—what do we do now?”

Kana pulled himself up as well. He looked at the dresser. “I guess we start by opening the door.”

Marin shook her head. “Why would we do that?”

Kana turned to Line for support. “We can't stay in here forever. Besides, I want to see the other side. You heard that carving, right?”

“Right,” said Line. “Let's have a look.”

“Fine,” said Marin with a slight nod of her head. “Just be quick about it.”

Together, Line and Kana pushed the dresser away from the doorway. Kana grabbed the knob and, ever so slowly, opened the door. They entered the darkened hall. Three grooves were carved onto the door:

I I I

“What are you looking at?” asked Line. “I can't see a thing.”

“Hash marks on the door,” said Kana. “Give me your hand.”

Kana took Line's fingers and guided them along the grooves.

“Three hash marks. That's it?”

Kana stepped back to see the entire door, then looked up and down the hallway.

“That's it,” he concluded. He patted the door. “I never realized how thick this is—any other door . . .”

Marin came into the hallway. “The hash marks must represent the three of us.”

“How could it know there's three of us?” asked Kana. “Whatever it was—it was on the
other
side of the door. It couldn't see us.”

Marin walked down the hallway to the top of the staircase. She listened intently but heard nothing. The creature had vanished—or else it was just being very quiet. That last thought gave her a shiver, and she hurried back to Kana and Line.

“Let's go back inside,” she said. “We won't figure anything out standing here in the hallway.”

Upon entering the room, they immediately pushed the barricade back into place. Marin lit a few more candles, and they sat together on the couches. Going back to sleep was impossible. A clock on the wall read six thirty, not that it mattered. Still, Marin took the clock off the wall and wound it. Time was just an abstract concept, not a description of anything real. But it was Marin's habit to wind clocks and she saw no reason to stop now.

They sat on the couches, speaking softly but mainly listening, for a full hour. Nothing stirred. Finally, Marin stood up, stretched, and began pacing from one end of the room to the other. After a few minutes, she spoke. “We need to eat—even if that means going outside.”

“I agree,” said Line. He reached over to an end table and lit a candle. The room shimmered in a murky half-light. “Now that you mention it, I'm starving.”

“We also should talk about a plan to get off the island,” continued Marin. “You guys were right about—”

Kana sat up abruptly. “I don't believe my ears,” he said.

“She said it,” confirmed Line, laughing.

“If you're finished gloating . . . ,” Marin said. “The point is—we can't count on getting rescued. Our problem is the tide. Right? The tide is supposed to roll out for a long time, and
far
—maybe hundreds of miles. So walking to the ocean doesn't make sense, because once we get there, what do we do? To have any chance of getting to the Desert Lands, we need two things. One: a boat. Two . . .”

“A way to the sea,” finished Line.

Marin turned toward Line and nodded. “Right. So what about the Coil River? Doesn't it start east of here, somewhere in the forest?”

Line sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yes,” he replied. “It's fed by an aquifer and dumps into Southerly Bay.” After a pause, he continued. “I've sailed up the Coil before. There's a little fishing depot about a mile or two upriver. The freshwater fishermen keep it stocked.”

“Exactly,” said Marin, her eyes locking first with Line's, then Kana's. “Dad used to go nearby that depot to fish. There's a hut there—right? He got to it by sailing around Shiprock Point, and then into the bay.”

Line stood up and walked to the pool. He leaned over and felt the water—it was still hot. He turned back to Marin. “That's how people usually go,” he said. “And the depot always had an emergency boat, just in case there was trouble.” He thought about this awhile longer. “But how does that get us off the island? The water's gone. Southerly Bay must be a desert right now—filled with dead fish.”

“Think about it,” insisted Marin. “If there's a river flowing from the island, it won't just stop now that the ocean has receded. It'll keep flowing across the old seabed, until it reaches the sea.”

Kana couldn't help but grin. Marin was right.

Marin turned to him, her eyes flashing with excitement. “If we can get to the fishing depot, we can take the spare boat all the way to the sea. From there, we head southwest. This may have been the emergency plan the mayor was talking about. He mentioned the Coil, remember?”

Kana looked up at Line. “It sounds promising. Line, what do you think? You're the best sailor here—could we actually cross the sea in that fishing depot boat?”

Line raised his wounded arm above his head and let it drop. He grimaced. “That boat is small, but at least it has a sail. It's only meant to get around Shiprock Point, but if we manage to avoid storms, we'd get pretty far.” He glanced at Marin. “But what we really need is . . .”

“A sunstone,” finished Marin.

The two of them locked eyes, remembering yet again that day by the pond, deep in the forest. Line nodded. “To get to the Desert Lands, the furriers sail just shy of southwest, at two hundred twenty-one degrees. With a sunstone, it'd be easy to follow them.”

“If it's so easy, why do we go with the furriers instead of building our own boats?” asked Kana. “It seems crazy to depend on them.”

“I didn't say it was
easy
,” replied Line. “Just easy to follow them—for a while. Storms come to the North Seas around Nightfall. And the furriers have the right kind of boats for storms. We'd have to be unbelievably lucky with the weather, and with getting enough water and supplies—”

“You may be right,” interrupted Marin. She put a hand on Line's shoulder as she spoke. “But there's no point in talking
about that now. I'd love to be worrying about ocean storms—it would mean we're off the island. What we need now is a destination. Let's scrounge up all the supplies we can and head for the fishing outpost.”

Line had a faraway look in his eyes. “I wish we had a map of the island. It might help us get to the depot quicker.”

“I have one hanging in my room back at Shadow House,” replied Kana. “I can get it.”

“I'll go with you,” said Marin. “I want to check the grocer's stand next to the hourglass to see if any food was left behind.”

“What about the visitor—the creature or whatever it was?” asked Line. “Maybe we should all go.”

Marin glanced at Line's arm. “You need to rest,” she said. “Kana can take me there on his way to Shadow House. I'll go to the grocer's stand and head straight back.”

Kana looked unconvinced. “On your own?”

“I'll bring a candle,” she replied. “Besides, the signal lamp is still on. And the moon is out.”

“Speaking of the signal lamp,” said Line. “What do we do now—just leave it on?” His voice sounded reedy and distant.

“Why not?” said Marin. She walked to a nearby chair and picked up the oilskin jacket she'd found downstairs. “They could still come back for us.” With an air of finality—
discussion over
—Marin looked at Kana. “Ready?”

Instead of answering, Kana watched Line walk to the nearest sofa and lie down. Kana's eyesight was so sharp that he could see the sweat gathering along his friend's hairline, even though the room was quite cold. “Line—are you all right?” he asked.

Line didn't hear him. He was lost in thought. His mind turned over the sequence of events leading up to this moment: losing the sunstone, leaving Francis alone in the house, going into the woods
after
the tide turned, falling into the pit, missing the boats. He could call it bad luck, but that would be dishonest. It was mistake after mistake.
All his.

“Line?” said Kana again.

Line picked up the corners of his sweater and used them to wipe his cheeks. After several long seconds, he turned to look at Marin and Kana. His eyes glimmered wetly in the candlelight.

“I'm sorry,” said Line at last. “It's my brother . . . I just can't stop thinking about him.”

Marin walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Francis is safe,” she whispered. She put a hand on top of his head and ran her fingers through his thick brown hair.

Line nodded slightly.
Of course that's what you would say. But that doesn't mean it's true.

Kana sat down next to Marin and shook his head. “I feel bad for Mom and Dad, too,” said Kana. “I'm sure everyone will think it's their fault. Because they couldn't keep track of us.”

“Maybe they can take care of Francis,” whispered Line. He sighed heavily.

“Everyone will take care of Francis,” insisted Marin. She tried to sound confident—as if this were a certainty. “We'll get to the Desert Lands. We just have to stay focused.” She patted Kana on the arm. “Let's go.”