Nightfall (7 page)

Deep Well was built on a hill and surrounded by an array of impressive trees. There was a northern ash, a ginkgo, and several enormous firs. The centerpiece was a gnarled, ancient-looking wick tree whose vines were used to make torches. Wick lit easily and lasted for several hours—the okrana swore by it. Now the tree was picked clean, like everything else around Bliss.

The house itself was a sprawling structure with inset circular windows and a moss-covered slate roof that had a thick tower rising from its center. At the top of the tower was a widow's walk encased in glass and a powerful signal lamp. For the last several years, with the sun low in the sky, this lamp had remained lit so the town's fishermen could find their way home. Once the furriers arrived, the light had been extinguished, another sign that the hour of departure was near.

The house shimmered in the dying sunlight because the stones used to build it were speckled with minerals. The front door, which was covered by a thin layer of cork, served as the town's message board. It had been loaded with notes related
to the upcoming move: requests for help in moving and cleaning, as well as for supplies, such as extra suitcases and trunks. Now the board was empty—as was most of the house. In truth, the building was more of a banquet hall than a home. The main floor was devoted to the town's only indoor meeting area, complete with several fireplaces and four enormous wooden tables. The house's sole inhabitant was Bliss's aging mayor, who lived in an apartment on the second floor.

“Come in, come in,” beckoned the mayor, a small bald man wrapped in several layers of pale blue silks. “I almost gave up on you. It wouldn't do to be late for our departure!”

Marin and Kana set down the wheelbarrow, picked up the crate, and set it down in the large main room. The woodwork here was astounding. Artisans had carved thousands of designs across the walls, including trees, vines, mountains, clouds, and rivers. At the very top of the room, built into the ceiling, was a cupola with four large windows that—in sunnier times—allowed light into the room. The surfaces of the wooden tables had recently been waxed, and they shone in the light of the flickering candles. On the nearest table stood a dozen bottles made of greenish glass, sealed with corks and melted wax, and filled with dark liquid.

The mayor followed their gaze.

“Those bottles are all that remain of the Noon wine,” he said. “The rest go to the furriers to pay for our passage. When you were smaller, the whole town harvested these grapes in the Noon vineyards. What a wonderful time that was. . . ” His voice trailed off and he smiled.

“Are you leaving the bottles behind?” asked Marin as she ran
her fingers across the cool, dusty glass on the neck of a bottle.

“Of course not,” said the mayor. He reached out for one and cradled it possessively. “They're coming with us. We'll open some on special occasions, but I mean to save at least two for the best day of all—the day we come back home.”

Marin thought briefly about returning to the island in fourteen years' time. It seemed impossibly far away. She had more pressing things to worry about. The mayor could see it in her face and he cocked his head sideways, like a bird.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked.

“Where does the phrase
the houses must be without stain
come from?”

The mayor looked at her with an air of infinite patience. “My dear, it's just a saying we tend to use when the hour of departure draws near. It's nothing to concern yourself about.”

“Yes,” said Marin with determination. “But why was it carved into the statue of the hag—down by the sea?” She saw Kana's confusion and quickly explained to him what she and Line had seen.

“Ah, of course. That old statue,” said the mayor slowly. He rubbed a hand across his bald head, then crinkled his nose. “I haven't seen that since I was a boy.”

“Who made it?” asked Marin, eyeing the mayor carefully, studying his face.

“You are a curious girl,” replied the mayor, as if that answered the question. He thought for a few seconds more. “Well, there's not much to tell. The statue came with the island. All of it was a divine gift—a perfect home, ready to be inhabited. And for this we are eternally . . .”

“Grateful,” said Marin, finishing the sentence for him.

“Yes, quite right,” said the mayor as he gave Marin a smile. “But enough of this—you've come here to do a job, and we're all in a hurry, aren't we? Open the crate, will you?”

Kana edged his way past his sister to get a better look, and asked the mayor what was inside. The light from the candles obscured his vision.

“You shall soon see,” said the mayor. Then he frowned. “Silly me, you're blind, aren't you? But now everything is better. Is that right? How fortunate. Be a good lad and lend me a hand.”

Kana dropped to one knee, unfastened the latch on the front of the box, and pried its lid open. Inside was a set of a dozen knives. They looked like steak knives, only much, much larger. The handles were huge slabs of beautifully carved wood—four fists in height—and the blades were gleaming shanks of silver, each the length of a grown man's arm.

“Whose knives are these?” asked Kana.

“They belong to the house,” explained the mayor. “I don't like to keep them on display because, well, they are a bit unwelcoming. And since there is no easy place to store them here, I kept them in the nearest available house—yours. Help me put them back in their proper places, will you? Be careful, though. They are exceptionally sharp.”

The mayor took two knives from the box and walked over to the largest of the room's fireplaces. Just above the hearth sat a long piece of polished wood that served as the mantelpiece. Built into the mantelpiece, at regular intervals, were a dozen narrow slots made of copper. The mayor took a knife and slid its blade into one of the slots until the hilt on the handle rested
snugly against the mantelpiece. This action created a terrible screeching, grinding noise that made Kana and Marin recoil.

“Those are sharpeners built into the mantelpiece,” explained the mayor. “Whenever you pull out a knife, or return a knife to its proper place, the slot hones the blade. Ingenious, isn't it?”

“I see why you keep them in storage,” said Marin.

The mayor shuffled his feet and then drummed his fingers impatiently on the wooden table. “Hurry, now,” he said. “I need to close this place up and get down to the loading area. We're shorthanded now that the okrana have gone looking for that boy.”

Marin and Kana helped the mayor put the remaining knives into their slots. At one point, the mayor glanced at Kana and remarked, “That's a nasty cut you have on your face. How did you do that to yourself?”

“It was an accident,” said Kana quietly. “My own fault.”

“Pity,” muttered the mayor.

Marin looked away.

When they were done with the knives, the mayor extinguished the remaining candles, casting the room into darkness. “Drat,” said the mayor. “Now I can't see a blasted thing.”

“Let me help you,” said Kana, taking the mayor by the arm and guiding him to the doorway.

“Well, thank you for everything,” the mayor said as they reached the front door. He fumbled for something in his pocket, then laughed. “Silly me,” said the mayor. “I took the lock off this door last week.” He closed the door but took special care
not to close it entirely, leaving it open just a crack. Marin, Kana, and the mayor stood at the entryway for a moment.

“Mr. Mayor,” said Marin hesitantly.

He raised his eyebrows. “Another question?”

Marin nodded.

“Quickly, then,” said the mayor.

“I heard that, once, the furriers didn't bring enough boats and people were fighting—” began Marin.

“That was a long time ago,” interrupted the mayor. “Rest assured, it won't happen again.”

“What happened to the people who were left behind?” asked Marin.

“They perished,” said the mayor quietly. “Though not right away.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kana.

“This happened before my time,” said the mayor. “Those who were left supposedly found a citadel on the Dwarf Oak Islands, and stocked it with supplies to last them through the Night. I sailed to those islands as a boy. Pleasant area for an outing, but certainly no place to live.” He shook his head. “No one can last through the years of darkness. You'd freeze, starve, or go mad—probably all three.”

He glanced at Marin's worried face and smiled reassuringly.

“Not to worry,” he said. “Everyone is nervous the first time they leave the island. It's a long voyage to the Desert Lands, but once we're there, everything will be fine.”

“But what if—” began Marin.

“What?” snapped the mayor, face strained.

“What if we don't find Line by the time we need to leave?”

“In such an event, there is a plan,” said the mayor.

“What kind of plan?” pressed Marin. Kana, who had turned to leave, glanced back, suddenly interested in what the mayor had to say.

“Along the Coil River, there is . . .” But the mayor never finished. “I'm sorry, child, but this is not the time to explain. The okrana know, and that's most important.” With that, the mayor nodded curtly and began hobbling down the path that led to the cliffs and the sea beyond.

Kana and Marin walked back toward their house, with Kana pushing the wheelbarrow by himself now that it was empty. Light was draining from the western sky rapidly, and darkness seemed to be spilling out of the woods unchallenged. In several places, the road drew so close to the woods that it almost felt as if they had stepped inside and were trespassing amid a tangled web of roots, branches, and twisting trunks.

At one point, Kana stopped next to a large, slightly concave rock, known locally as Table Rock. In past years, when the sun was higher in the sky and daylight illuminated this area, families used to come here for picnics.

“It'll be good to be here again in the Morning light,” said Marin.

“Maybe for you,” replied Kana.

Marin winced. He was right. In such light, Kana would be blind. This was, of course, the very point that she had been making to Line—months earlier, back at the pond—but there was no value in bringing that up now. “I'm sorry,” she said. And that was all.

They resumed walking. The only sound was their wheelbarrow creaking as it rolled along the path.

“You really think Line went back to the pond?” asked Marin after a while. “I can't see him doing it.”

“I haven't talked to Line much in the last couple of weeks,” said Kana. “Your hunch is probably as good as mine.”

“I wasn't trying to ruin your friendship,” said Marin quietly.

“I know,” said Kana, leaning into the wheelbarrow and pushing it over a large tree root. “Look, if he doesn't turn up in the next hour or so, we'll find Ivo and tell him about the pond.”

“Yes,” said Marin. “I'll tell him.”

They continued walking. Minutes later, voices shouted in the distance. Several hundred yards ahead, they saw the flicker of a wick torch. Soon, more torches appeared.

“It's the okrana,” said Marin.

“That was fast,” said Kana, squinting into the distance.

They quickly closed the distance between them and the okrana. Ivo stood in the middle of the group, stony-faced, and it was impossible to tell whether he brought good news or bad. Marin strained her eyes, searching frantically for Line.

“Did you find him?” she called. “Ivo?”

Ivo shook his head but didn't stop walking. Apparently he was too pressed for time to talk.

“No signs of him at all?” Kana called out.

Ivo ignored the question.

Toward the end of the procession, Marin spotted one of the youngest members of the okrana—a gangly, pimple-faced teenager named Asher—who happened to be their second cousin.

“Asher!” shouted Marin. “What happened?”

Asher pretended not to hear, but slowed to let the other okrana pass. He waited a few seconds until they were out of earshot, then whispered to Marin and Kana.

“We know where he is,” Asher said.

“You do?” Marin breathed a sigh of relief. “Is he all right?”

“He went to the Upper Meadows to pick mushrooms, then headed toward the bog,” said Asher. “Someone saw him there earlier. He must have got stuck is all. We're going back to town to get some sticks and boards.”

Marin nodded. The best mushrooms were in the bog. Pickers often got stuck there, in the quick mud. It wasn't especially dangerous in itself, but it was nearly impossible to escape without help. That's why you were never supposed to pick there alone.

“It shouldn't take long,” said Asher. He turned and looked back at the other okrana. “We'll bring him down to the loading area as soon as we get him out. I'll give him a good kick in the pants for you.”