Nightfall (23 page)

It took Marin and Line several minutes to climb the tree and settle into a comfortable perch. They were sitting above the canopy, which allowed them to see the moon and the stars. Silvery moonlight illuminated the landscape around them, which was an undulating terrain of treetops as far as the eye could see. Both Marin and Line had heard about the evil of the moon, and the madness that it caused, but it didn't seem especially frightening from where they sat. It looked beautiful, like a serene deity gazing down upon them. And everywhere else, the stars shimmered and twinkled in silence. It would've been a welcome rest, but for the fact that the cold made sitting there so uncomfortable.

They stared at the sky for a while, until at last Marin spoke.

“I never thought you'd go looking for the sunstone,” she began.

Line looked at her blankly. He snorted and turned away. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“When I found it—”

“When you found it, you should have told me—right away,”
interrupted Line. “None of this was necessary. And for what? Why? Because you were too proud to say,
Sorry, actually, I do have my necklace after all.
And now look where we are.” Line paused to let this sink in. He gestured toward the treetops with his good arm. “Marin . . . I don't even know what to say.”

Marin shifted her position, trying to ease the aching in her legs. “You're right—I should have said something,” she said finally.

“But you didn't,” Line retorted. “You let me walk around for months thinking I had lost your family's heirloom. Of course I wanted to make it up to you.” He paused and stared directly at her, his skin drawn tight against his cheeks. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

Marin nodded and focused on a branch in front of her. The branch glistened, perhaps from the moonlight, perhaps from ice. She couldn't even look at Line.

“It seemed so stupid at the time,” she said in a low voice. “I didn't know it would lead to . . . all this.”

“I tried to find it because I wanted you to have that sunstone in the Desert Lands,” said Line softly. “I wanted you to have it in the Cloister—when you were alone. I wanted you to think of me.”

Marin stared at his face. He was so earnest—so sad. Suddenly she felt tears pricking her eyes.

“I should have known better—necklace or no necklace,” said Line, his voice softening. He looked away at the distant clouds. He shook his head.

A minute passed, then two. Slowly, Marin reached out and
rested her hand on Line's shoulder. She expected him to shrug it off or push her away, but he didn't.

Eventually, they settled back into the tree and tried to rest. Whether it was warranted or not, it did feel safer up there—in no small part because the moon allowed them to actually see. Marin leaned back against the cold trunk.

Once, her eyes drooped and she caught herself just as she was beginning to slide off the tree. Momentarily panicked, Marin stood up on the branch. From this angle, she could see Line shivering. She reached over and touched his forehead. “Your fever,” she said quietly. “It's coming back.”

Line was curled up in a notch where two big branches joined. He brushed her hand away. “I'm fine.”

“Line . . . ,” began Marin. “You're sick—we should get down.”

“No.” Line shook his head. “I just need to close my eyes.”

Marin looped a rope around the main trunk of the tree, and then around herself and Line. She drew the rope so that it was snug, but not too tight, then closed her eyes.

Sometime later, she bolted awake to the sound of Line cursing. He was sitting up, legs dangling over the branch, and peering downward.

“What happened?” she asked, trying to make out what he was looking at.

“The knife.
Damn.
It fell.”

“What? That's our only knife.”

“I know,” snapped Line. He kicked his legs angrily. “It must have slipped out of my pocket.”

“Maybe it's still on the branch. Look around.”

“No—I heard it fall.”

Marin was silent. Their only weapon was gone, and Kana still hadn't come back.

All around them the treetops trembled in the breeze. Wisps of fog and mist passed over them.

“I've got to go,” said Line finally.

“Where?”

“To get the knife,” he replied.

“What?” said Marin. She stared at him, incredulous. “That's crazy. You're sick. And what if you get lost?”

Line gripped the main trunk of the tree with his good hand. The sharpness of the bark helped clear his mind. “How could I possibly get lost?” he replied. “It's got to be sitting at the base of the tree.”

“You have a fever and a bad arm!” said Marin.

“I know,” said Line. “That's the point. I may need that knife . . .” He shifted his weight on the branch.

“Line—wait!”

But he had already swung off the branch and was heading down the tree, ignoring her frantic whispers. Marin peered down into the darkness below, wondering if she should follow.

She decided against it. They would only get in each other's way.

The cave opening was narrow and low, and Kana had to stoop to enter. As he ventured in deeper, however, the walls flared out and the cave became large enough to stand comfortably. Kana couldn't see the end, which tapered off into absolute darkness. The ground was dry and pebbly, but a nearby wall looked slick. He touched it, and his fingertips came away wet. In the distance he heard a steady trickle of water.

He pressed forward carefully. The air felt close and thick, but it didn't bother him—being in this enclosed space calmed him down, made him feel more composed, more self-assured. He reached out to touch a nearby wall outcropping. To his surprise, it moved. He crouched down to examine it closer. It wasn't a rock wall—it was canvas, expertly painted and camouflaged to look like part of the cave. He grabbed at it until he found the edge, and flung the whole thing away. Underneath sat a long concave shape made of wood.
The boat.
The hull was made of smooth planks, and an elegant keel ran across the top like a dorsal fin.

Kana took a deep breath. At last.

The boat was at least thirty feet long, likely much larger and sturdier than the canoe at the fishing outpost. The canvas was probably the sail, and underneath the hull he found some nautical equipment—including rigging, an anchor, and paddles. He wasn't an expert sailor himself, but Marin and Line would know how everything worked. It was, in fact, a sea vessel. It could handle open water. Line and Marin would have a chance, especially with the sunstone.

For a moment, Kana pictured them sailing off without him. He let the image settle in his mind. Then he imagined himself walking back into the woods, alone, surrounded by Night. It was sad to think of leaving Marin and his parents, but it seemed a divinely foretold plan.
This is when our lives diverge.

Kana ran his palm across the smooth wooden hull. It felt warm, almost alive. He walked deeper into the cave and felt the ground turning cold and wet under his feet. A deep channel of icy water flowed along the cave floor. He stuck his hand into the water—it did not touch bottom—and brought it to his lips. The water tasted like rock and minerals, as if it came from the very bowels of the earth. Kana followed it for several feet until it plunged back under the rock. At some point, it probably joined up with the river. With a fresh water supply, someone could hole up in this cave for a long time.

He backtracked toward the entrance and found a collection of charred embers and bits of wood, the remains of a long-dead fire. From the looks of it, the cave had been unoccupied for many years. And then Kana came upon something wholly unexpected: a series of drawings that completely covered sections of the wall.

He moved to study them more closely. The drawings were incredibly lifelike. Closest to the entrance were tracings of boats racing across the ocean, full sailed, bows raised high in the waves. Kana could feel the movement just by looking at them. There was no doubt about what kind of ships they were—their yellowish, saffron-colored sails gave them away. They were furrier boats in formation, perhaps on the attack, perhaps fleeing. Fish seemed to jump out of the wall in desperate attempts to escape them.

Farther into the cave, the drawings focused on the nearby forest. Whoever drew these had done an exact rendering of the apple trees guarding the cave's mouth.

His eyes drifted across the apple trees and to a picture of two people standing close together, holding hands, their faces hidden in profile. They were gazing down at something that didn't appear in the painting. Kana wanted to keep looking around, but he knew that Marin and Line were waiting. Reluctantly, he forced himself to turn away and leave.

Kana retraced his steps. Outside the cave, several feet from the pool, was a long, rectangular mound of earth that he hadn't seen at first. A young cherry tree stood next to it, its limbs bare of leaves or fruit. The smaller branches were all encased in ice. Soon, the forest would be unrecognizable to Day-dwellers.

He had to hurry. Time was running out.

Ever so carefully, Line climbed down the tree, limb by limb. It was tricky to do with one hand, but it was easier than the way up. Line knew his fever was back—the heat behind his eyes, the ache up his nose into his forehead, and the dull gnaw on his brain. It wasn't too bad, though. Not yet. But it was back and that was bad news. If Kana didn't find lekar, he would need to . . .

No.

That is not a helpful thought. Or is it?

There came a time when the need for truth trumped the value of denial. Because it
might
come to that. And if he had to cut off his arm—
there, I said it
—then he would need a way to stop the bleeding. He would need to cauterize the wound. He would need to do this with fire. He would need to apply the fire to his arm. Searing hot flames. And if—
when
—he blacked out, it would be Marin or Kana's turn to pick up the knife and finish the job.

Line shook his head. That was enough truth for the moment.

It hadn't yet come to that. And it might not. Maybe Kana
would find the Coil. And since woodfern often grew near water, maybe he'd even find some lekar. Line wiped his sweaty brow.
Enough hoping.
Too much hope could make it harder to accept reality when the time came.

He needed to find that knife.
That
was useful. And so he descended the tree, branch by branch, until he reached the forest floor. Then he stopped and listened.

Nothing.

Not even a faraway chirp. The forest was still, though he sensed there was something more. Moonlight slanted down to the forest floor, creating crisscrossing shafts of light. Line knelt down and patted the ground around him. He just needed to find the knife, grab it, and get back up the tree. Simple. He rummaged through crinkly leaves, pine needles, dirt, and moss, but it wasn't there. It was cold enough for the ground to be covered with a very thin layer of frost. Even so, he felt hot and half expected to see steam rising off of his body.

He widened his search. He crawled forward two paces, and then two paces to his left and right, and repeated this on the other side of the tree.

Line searched for several minutes—pausing occasionally to listen—but came up empty. The wind began to blow, making leaves flutter and branches sway overhead, and allowing moonlight to pierce the canopy. Something gleamed on the forest floor. It was close, no more than twenty feet away, but far enough for him to get lost trying to find it. Line hesitated, then began crawling toward what he had seen.

Before long, he encountered a tree. Line felt around the trunk, trying to gauge its dimensions, and soon came upon an
opening. He gave the hole a wide berth, not wanting to encounter what might live inside. As he crawled onward, he felt something hard underfoot. He reached down and grasped polished wood—the handle of the knife.

Line let out a sigh of relief and ran his finger across the flat side of the blade. It wasn't much—hardly the key to their salvation—but still, they needed that knife, and he had found it.

Crack.

Line froze. It was the sound of a branch breaking in the distance. It was a perfectly normal sound, but it wasn't
just
the sound of a branch breaking—it meant that something was here. Then he heard footsteps coming fast. No human being could possibly move with that kind of speed in the dark forest. It was something else. And it was headed this way.

Line's immediate impulse was to retreat into the tree, but that would just give away Marin's location. He turned to the tree next to him and climbed inside the hollow trunk. No other option.

It was just large enough. Cobwebs draped thickly across his face. Even after he wiped them away, he could feel torn-off strands stuck to his skin. He waited and listened—but heard nothing. A curious insect began crawling across his arm. He was about to crush it when something passed in front of the tree. Line felt the disturbance of heavy air and the slight scent of the creature. He held his breath.

The creature continued along, now only a stone's throw away from the tree with Marin in it. Line heard a faint scratching. It sounded like the creature was climbing. Maybe it was Marin's tree, maybe not.

Line couldn't take that chance. Especially now that he had the knife.

He stepped out of his hiding place, took a deep breath, and plunged toward the sound of the creature. Seconds later, he collided with it. Line yelped in agony as his bad arm banged into the creature's body, but he pressed on. The creature reeled backward and Line jumped after it. His hand grasped the creature's lower leg—which was cold and leathery—but he lost his grip when something sharp protruding from the thing's ankle cut into his shoulder. In a heartbeat, the creature was back on its feet. It flung itself at Line, knocked him over, pinned him down, and grabbed him by the neck. Line struggled madly but couldn't get loose.

Tears came to his eyes and his oxygen began to give out. Line wrenched his entire body in one powerful movement. It was enough. The creature fell to Line's side. Line sprang to his feet. Still holding the knife, he pinned the creature's chest with his knee. This was the moment. Line raised his knife for a killing blow.

“No! It's me!”

Line heard this only dimly, through the fog of his rage. Still, it was enough to make him pause with the blade suspended over the creature's body.

“LINE! NO!”

That cry broke through. It was Kana's voice. Keeping the knife in one hand, Line used his other hand to feel Kana's face. It
was
him. Slowly, he lowered the knife.

“You were about to—”

“I thought you were one of them,” gasped Line.

“I know,” said Kana, also panting for breath.

“I cut myself on your leg,” said Line. His eyes widened. “Your leg. It's . . .”

Line reached down for Kana's leg. Although he felt Kana's boot, above that there was no mistaking the talon sticking out of Kana's ankle.

At first Line felt confused, unable to process this information. Then slowly, it came together. Kana's strength, his night vision, his taloned feet—they were all part of the same fact.

Kana was one of
them
.

“Don't tell her,” said Kana. His voice was low but pleading. “Listen . . . I found the boat. I'll take you and Marin to it. And then you'll never see me again.”