Authors: Lynne Matson
Nil Unlocked (7 page)
Na
ï
ve.
Deadly.
Anything but
nice.
SKYE
NOVEMBER 16, EVENING
I opened my uncle’s journal and picked up where I’d left off.
Entry #4
I know she told me to go north, but I sensed she went east.
I walked up the beach, toward the spindly trees and scrub. Toward where I felt she’d be, knowing I was chasing a vision or a dream or possibly the only person stuck in this nightmare with me. Just past the scrub the island opened wide, a flat black rock field without end. Beautiful and stark and awesome and chilling, as sharp a contrast as an Ansel Adams photo.
Stark black rock, pale blue sky. Crisp. Clear. Lifeless.
Dangerous.
Light flashed ahead, a wink on the black, and I froze; I thought of the glistening air I hit on Oak Street, wondering if this was Burning Air Hell Round Two.
But this light didn’t rise. Didn’t move. I stepped closer and the light disappeared.
Two more steps and I saw why. Three-foot-wide tunnels snaked through the black rock, full of water, reflecting the sun. No fish. No life. Just water, so clear I could see the rock bottom. I wondered if she’d led me here.
I fell to my knees. Warm water, decently fresh to the taste. I drank until I couldn’t.
I sat back, wiped my mouth, and watched the ripples from my hands fade. The surface became a mirror. A boy with spiky brown hair and sleepless eyes gazed back at me. It was the first time I saw myself on the island, and the last time I looked scared.
Now I look fearless.
I spent the rest of that afternoon puking my guts out. I never drank that water again.
My name is Scott Bracken, and this is the truth.
The next few entries described Uncle Scott’s search for food, another giraffe sighting, and his obsession with the mysterious girl who may or may not be an angel.
The seventh entry was different. Meticulous sketches of constellations filled the pages. I recognized Orion immediately; for the others I relied on Uncle Scott’s identification. I guessed these were the sketches Dad would use to navigate toward the mysterious island.
My turn first.
I pulled up images on Google and tried to match the constellations Uncle Scott drew to the night sky over Polynesia and Micronesia. Beneath them sprawled open water.
Nothing else.
I wasn’t sure who was crazier, Uncle Scott or my dad.
That night I dreamed of giraffes dancing on hot lava, and when I woke, I decided I might not be all that balanced either.
And I still didn’t believe.
RIVES
DAY 243, ALMOST DAWN
I surfaced from the deepest sleep of my life.
Around me, the air stretched black. Not the bottomless black I’d just woken from, but the rich black of a Nil night. The sky had a swipe of color, enough to hint that dawn would show. Waves crashed in steady rhythm. Otherwise, the island was still, like Nil recharged while we slept.
Beside me, Jillian slumped in a chair, eyes closed. Dex’s sleeping form sprawled on the ground next to Jillian, their hands separated by a thin slash of air. Jason lay in Dex’s bunk, out cold.
It felt like a deathwatch, only I was alive. More alive and rested than I’d felt in weeks.
I swung my legs over the edge of my bed. Before my feet hit the ground, Jillian sat bolt upright, her eyes red and blinking.
“Rives! You’re awake! Thank God.” Her eyes narrowed. “What were you
thinking
? You scared the crap out of us. We weren’t sure you’d wake up. Ever.” Exhaustion etched her face. “I found the deadsleep tea on your table. Only I wasn’t stupid enough to drink it.”
“Jills, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just—” I glanced at Jason, who was still asleep, his broken, bandaged finger propped on his chest. “We need Sabine’s tea.” My voice was flat. “When Talla needed it, we didn’t have it. Jason could’ve used it last night, and who knows how many people will need it in the future. And now I know how to make it.” I cocked a slight smile.
Jillian’s face hardened. “Jason could’ve used a night of not worrying you were dead. Make that
two
nights. You’ve been asleep for almost three days.”
“Three days? No way.” But the look on Jillian’s face told me she wasn’t kidding. No wonder my stomach felt like an empty pit. “Man, that tea is strong.”
Jillian didn’t crack a smile.
“Look. I’m sorry for worrying you, but I’m not sorry I tried it. I’d watched Sabine make it. I guess I drank more than I thought as I worked out the kinks. I forgot to add the juice.” I shrugged. “I know we need the tea, and I’ve been figuring out how to make it.”
“By testing it on yourself?”
“Better me than anyone else.”
She shook her head. “Talla was bold, but she wasn’t reckless. Or stupid. And she wouldn’t want you to join her by the field.”
“It was quite the cockup, Rives,” Dex said. I hadn’t realized he was awake. He sat up, bleary-eyed. One side of his hair was mashed flat against his head. “I found you facedown on the bed, breathing slowly, like each breath might be your last. Jillian’s the one who told me you bloody well poisoned yourself.” He rubbed his hair with both hands, making it all equally spiky, then pointed a long finger at me. “This island is dangerous enough without deadly home brews, mate. And the City needs you.”
“Point taken. But now I know. More light breakfast blend, less espresso.” I grinned.
Jillian scowled. “So much for your promise not to do anything stupid. Please don’t make a habit of self-experimentation, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
She shook her head, then yawned and peeled herself off the chair. “Since you’re back in the land of the living, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.” She sighed. “Which is almost here.”
I stood. “Take my bunk. I’ve slept enough.”
Jillian didn’t argue. She climbed in and curled into a tight ball.
Dex lay back down. “Glad you’re not dead, mate. You scared the piss out of us.” His eyes were already closed. “Been a long few days,” he mumbled.
A long few days.
Days I’d lost.
Time
I’d lost, gone forever.
The urge to return to the Cove hit me full force, as undeniable as the need to breathe. No one carved an arrow unless it was meant to be followed.
Outside my hut, Zane stood a stone’s throw away. His back to me, he studied the woods, holding a fresh rock-tipped spear. Ahmad’s weapon work, no question. Snatched from Southern California, Zane alternated between looking totally at home to looking completely out of place. Right now, casing the perimeter with a spear instead of a board, he was a fish out of water.
I purposely stepped on a twig as I walked, loud enough to alert him to my presence but not wake the City.
Zane spun. “Jesus!”
“Nope. Just me.” I grinned.
Zane pointed his spear at me. “Whoa, bro. You’re not a ghost, right? Word is you’re in an island coma.”
“Boo.”
Zane’s eyes widened.
“Kidding.” I grinned again. “No ghost. No coma. I’m fine.”
Zane’s stance relaxed. “Dude, you nearly gave me a coronary. No joke.”
“Sorry.” It was my word of the morning, apparently. “Anyone else up?”
“Just Macy.” He pointed toward the Wall, where Macy stood, stretching.
“Morning, Rives.” She smiled warmly as I walked up. “Good to see you.” As in
Oh yeah, you’re not dead
.
“Good to be seen,” I replied. As in
yeah, still kicking it.
“I knew you’d make it.” Her calm tone was Macy confident.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Your heart was in the right place. You did it for everyone except you.” Then she chuckled. “But also, Sabine told me once that deadsleep tea stops a person’s heart in ten minutes. Otherwise, it just knocks you out, like what happened to you. So I knew you’d be okay.”
“Huh,” I said, absorbing Macy’s reveal. “I guess I beat the odds.”
Another tidbit that would’ve been good to know. A flash of frustration made my fists clench. Why was everything here so tough to figure out? It was like everybody got a piece of the puzzle, but no one got it all.
Until now
, I thought fiercely.
I’m going to add it up, put it together. I’m going to unlock Nil’s secrets if it kills me.
It almost did,
the wind whispered.
Macy’s eyes flicked over my shoulder.
“Looking for someone?” I glanced behind me, only seeing Zane.
“Kiera,” Macy said. “We’re going to walk. She arrived the day you left with Thad,” she added.
“Any other rookies?”
“Just Alexei. His English is pretty rough but he’s doing okay. He’s from Georgia. Not Charley’s Georgia, but the Russian one.”
“Georgia’s actually a former Soviet Republic,” I said absently.
“Well hello, Mr. Geography!”
I shrugged. “My dad covered a story there in 2008 when Georgia and Russia were on the brink of war.”
Mental footage of Dad flanked by armored tanks and troops in flak jackets flooded my head, followed by images of bombed-out streets, children bloodied, soldiers blindfolded. For weeks I’d woken up screaming, terrified that my dad wouldn’t come back. But he had.
Are my parents having nightmares about me?
They had to be going through hell right now. One more tally mark in the cruel column of Nil.
Foe
, I thought.
Because Nil sure as hell isn’t our friend.
Maybe it’s neither,
the waves whispered.
Maybe the arrow would point me to the answer.
I squeezed Macy’s shoulder. “Have a good walk, Mace. Be safe.”
The island sun rose quickly, shooting light the color of Nil’s lions through the trees. The Cove was a ghost town, like I’d hoped. No need to make small talk or dodge company. Fast strokes, a strong inhale, a clean dive, and I was there—behind the falls, cloaked in liquid cover.
The opening hadn’t changed.
I offered up a prayer for safety and eased into the cave.
The tunnel absorbed dawn’s light as if starved for it. I counted my steps as I went, running the tips of my fingers across the tunnel walls. Rough, cool, moist. Familiar. The tunnel narrowed. My fingertips brushed the arrow; I didn’t stop.
Fifteen steps later, I hit another arrow
.
An island blaze,
I thought with satisfaction.
Last year my dad and I had hiked part of the Camino de Santiago, starting outside Le Puy-en-Velay. Before we’d set a single foot on the trail, my dad had showed me photos of the red-and-white
balises
lining the route.
Follow the blazes,
he’d said.
They mark our way
.
Why point the way to a dead end?
You don’t,
I thought.
Not here.
Here death was easy to find. You sure as hell didn’t need any help.
I followed the arrow.
Ten steps later, the tunnel widened. Now I could only touch one wall at a time. I slowed, tipping back and forth like a seesaw, checking both sides for carvings and openings, for anything man-made or important. Twice I doubled back and rechecked the walls until the tunnel forked.
Using two hands, I ran my fingers in larger and larger circles over both sides in turn, unsure which way to go.
No arrows. It felt like a test.
I went left.
Twelve steps later, my fingertips brushed a third arrow and I smiled.
You passed, Rives.
The tunnel curved left, then right. The darkness lifted. No arrows to guide my way; now I had light.
I exited the cave tunnel and stepped into another world, a stunning Nil secret. An underground cavern, lined in black rock, with a three-meter-wide opening near the top where sunlight and water poured in equal parts, falling gently into a wide pool.
To my left, the rock dropped steeply into the water; to my right, a two-meter-wide ledge ran the length of the cavern. Above the ledge, carvings coated the wall like island graffiti. Moons in all phases, stars shaping constellations, suns shooting out rays, and rows of waves and interlocking diamonds were everywhere, along with scattered fish, cats, and simple stick figures. Near the top the number sequence 3-2-1-4 ran like a title. One large diamond stood out from the rest: hanging mid-wall, dead center, it held a sun carving with an eye in its gut. Beside it, a vertical arrow shot toward the cave ceiling, with the letters
N-I-L
running vertically alongside it, with the
N
at the bottom and the
L
at the top.
Now I knew what the shallow diamond carving at the entrance was missing. The
N-I-L.
On the ledge beneath the diamond, a rock knife lay beside a mango.
A
fresh
mango.
I whirled around, taking in the darkness at my back. The cave tunnel was too tight a squeeze for me to have passed someone without knowing it.
Unless they took the other fork
, I thought.
I waited, watching the tunnel exit, expectant. No one appeared. By my mental count, at least ten silent minutes passed. No people, no surprises.
I was definitely alone.
But I didn’t
feel
alone.
The air inside the cavern had a presence, a
weight
, a fluidity of time and people and energy and island mojo that I didn’t understand but deeply wanted to. Around me swirled silent ghosts and rituals and secrets I couldn’t see, but they were as tangible as the carvings on the cavern wall. The weight intensified, like answers hung in the air, pouring in with the falls, pouring into
me
, if I just listened.
I closed my eyes, straining to hear Talla’s voice cut through the rush of water.
