Nightfall (26 page)

She struck furiously at the wall, trying to find something solid.
Anything—a root, a rock, something that won't fall away.
With her left hand, she clung to a single clump of stringy roots, but she could feel them tearing. Marin reached out with her feet. Her left foot brushed something solid that felt like a large rock, maybe even a boulder. There was no time—she had to commit. With a deep breath, she shifted her weight to her left foot and stood on the rock. It held, and it was wide enough for her to stand on with both feet. In fact, she was soon able to crouch down and gingerly sit on the rock. The woodfern was just below, and she could almost touch it with her dangling feet.

Marin took off one of her sturdy leather boots, scooted to the edge of the rock, and extended down her bare foot as far as she could. She could feel her toes brushing the plants. Gently, she tore at them with her toes and, over the span of several minutes, methodically took as much as she could and crammed it into her pockets.

Marin laced up her boot and began to contemplate her exit
strategy. As she looked up at the snowy moonlight, one thing became clear—she couldn't return the same way she'd come. The stringy roots were all torn.

How do I get out? It's only twenty feet, but if there's nothing to hold me . . .

She sensed the fear coming back, worming its way into her limbs, into her brain. But she had lekar with her, and there was no way she would give in to that fear, not when she had the means to save Line's life. She forced herself to examine the sinkhole walls as methodically as possible. Then something caught her eye. To the right of the rock, she saw the nub of a root protruding from the earthen wall. This root was different from the others. It looked much thicker and stronger. This root was her way out.

She reached into her pants pocket and took out the copper box that her mother had given her—the one containing the scalpels. Using the corner of the box, she began chipping away at the dirt surrounding the root. The dirt came away easily, in chunks, revealing that the root continued up toward the ground, just as Marin had hoped it would. The root was sturdy and knobby, with dozens of smaller roots radiating deeper into the ground.

Marin continued to dig, chipping away at the earthen wall, following the root upward. Because the soil was so crumbly, it was easy to expose the root and shimmy up. After about twenty minutes, she had made her way almost back to the surface. When she extended her arms, her hands were about two feet away from the mouth of the sinkhole. And then the root changed course, and dove back down. Two feet. Grass hung
over the edge. Thick grass.
Will it hold?
There was only one thing to do. Marin gathered her breath and lunged for the top of the hole.

She grabbed handfuls of the grass and yanked herself up. Wriggling her way forward, she didn't stop until her entire body was out of the sinkhole and resting on solid ground. She tried to control her frenetic breathing, but this was no time for rest.
Line.
She had to check on him.

Line was unconscious and wheezing faintly. Marin took a handful of the woodfern from her pockets. It was so caked with fungus that Marin could feel it coating her fingers. She crammed the whole handful into her mouth, chewing on the leaves and turning them into a soft, slimy poultice, which she then slathered onto Line's arm. It seemed like the only way to make an ointment.

Marin's hands were cold from the sinkhole, and she caressed his cheeks and forehead to wake him up. His eyelids moved but did not open. She took another handful of woodfern from her pocket and placed several of the leaves in Line's mouth.

“Lekar,” she whispered. “Swallow it down. I'll get you water.”

Line's jaw began to clench as he started chewing. Marin rushed back to the stream and returned with more water, cupped in her hands. For the next fifteen minutes, she ferried water to Line, and he drank greedily. His eyes were still closed, but the way his chest rose and fell gave Marin hope. Lekar worked fast.

Marin still had a great deal of it—in all likelihood, more than he would need.

She settled next to Line and tried to catch her breath. What they both needed now was rest. They huddled against each other for warmth. An hour passed, and the gently falling snow reminded Marin that they couldn't stay like this for long. They had to keep moving, as soon as Line could manage.

At some point, Marin decided to go to the stream for another drink, and when she returned, Line was sitting up. His eyes were open and it was clear that his fever had broken. He looked at her, shook his head, and chuckled softly to himself.

He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Marin,” he whispered.

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

“Line,” she said a few seconds later. “We need to get back to that meadow. He'll be waiting for us—I know it.”

Line nodded, then pursed his lips, as if he wanted to speak but was holding back.

“What?”

“What do we do if he's not there?”

“He'll be there,” said Marin flatly.

Line was unconvinced. It wasn't just a matter of whether Kana was there or not. The question was whether Kana would even
want
to go with them. The Kana they knew was gone, perhaps forever. It might be pointless, but Marin was right—they still had to try and find him.

Sometime later, Line felt strong enough to stagger forward. It was a good moment—he was feeling better, and the snow had stopped. They set off together at a slow pace, heading in a direction that he believed—and hoped—would lead back to the meadow where they had left Kana. Their path followed the
stream, but it eventually disappeared underground. It was not the Coil. Marin and Line pressed on. The ground sloped upward and they began to climb. The trees grew taller and taller and soon they were back in the dark forest, making their way toward an unknown ridge.

When they reached it, the forest ended abruptly. They were on the cusp of a chasm and, far off in the distance, they could see a great clearing. For a moment, their hopes soared, because it seemed they had found their way back to the meadow. But it wasn't the case. Instead they saw moonlight reflecting off the surface of a pond.

Marin made the connection first. “This canyon . . . We've been here before.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if to block out what she was seeing. “On the other side of the canyon. Me and you—and Kana. It's where we left the sunstone.”

Line cursed softly and covered his mouth with his hand.

Marin looked into the canyon. Although she couldn't see the bottom, there were a series of perfectly rectangular openings along the walls. When they had been here last, the openings had been covered by stone slabs. Now those slabs had either fallen or somehow rolled away.

“You were right,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “They opened. They all opened.”

It began to snow again and the canyon became a soft blur of white. Clouds gathered overhead while Marin and Line watched each other's faces fade into black as the moon vanished. A frigid wind picked up.

“I don't know what to do,” said Marin, more to herself than to Line.

“Let's wait for the clouds to pass,” Line said, taking Marin's hand in his. “It's not safe for us to walk without
some
moonlight.”

Seconds later, they heard a loud crack—the sound of a branch being intentionally broken.

“Kana?!”
Marin whispered.

Another loud crack, this time much closer. Marin flinched.

Line took the box of matches from the vegetable sack Marin was holding. He counted the matches—three left.

Grabbing one, he held it between his thumb and index finger and slid it sharply across the striking surface. It sputtered once, twice, and then died.

“Try another,” said Marin.

“We only have two.”

“It doesn't matter,” she said.
“Do it.”

Line grabbed a second match and struck it. This one flared and then caught. The flame lit up his face and hands. It lit up Marin's face—she looked stricken with panic.

“Behind you,” she whispered.

Line turned around so quickly that the motion blew out the flame. They were plunged back into darkness. He turned back toward Marin.

“What was it? What did you see?” he asked.

“Them.”

Line fumbled with the last match. It flared to life. Line turned, more slowly this time. The tiny match threw off enough light to reveal dozens of shadowy figures, watching him quietly. They were only feet away, close enough for him to see their powerful chests rising with each breath. They towered
over Line. Their faces were human in appearance, although the skin was mottled and gray. Their large, unblinking eyes reflected the tiny, quivering flame.

Line turned back to Marin. He could feel the fire crawling down the match. The heat was beginning to burn his fingertips.

“Marin—they're behind you, too,” he whispered. “They're everywhere.”

Kana saw the creature for just a split second longer before she disappeared into the tree. He stared at the knife in his hand. The creature had told him to climb the tree.
I'll chase him back to you,
she had said. What he did next was more instinct than a decision—he simply leapt at the tree trunk. Without boots to constrict his feet, he felt his claws catch onto the bark and grab hold. It wasn't easy—he still wobbled—but he held on. He gripped the tree trunk lightly with his hands and began moving up the trunk.

Kana climbed slowly, one foot over the other, straight up. At first his leg muscles burned, but that soon faded and he moved faster. The upper trunk was covered in patches of ice, but it made no difference because Kana's talons pierced it easily, sinking deep into the bark. With every step, his movements became less awkward. The wind picked up as he neared the upper half of the tree. He looked down and saw that the ground had disappeared below the low-lying mist.

In the distance, Kana began to discern the sound of the two creatures as they moved across the treetops. He wanted
to follow them, but it seemed impossible. The gap between the tree he was standing on and the branches of the nearest tree was at least twenty feet. Even if he
could
jump this distance—the outermost branches of the pine were thin and unlikely to hold his weight.

Kana knew what he wanted to do, but it seemed ridiculous. Still, he lowered himself into a crouch, held it for several seconds, then exhaled and exploded upward, springing off the tree with tremendous power and speed. He soared into the air. The pine loomed quickly. Kana overshot the branch he was aiming for and slammed into the actual trunk. At the last minute, he tried to cushion his impact with his arms, nearly impaling himself with the knife he was holding.

He gasped for air, but recovered quickly, flinging himself onto the next tree and then the next. With each movement, he became quicker and more adroit. There was a rhythm to it. He had to run lightly across the branches, leap across the gap, catch another branch or trunk, and then run again. By the time he became adept at this, however, he lost the two creatures. Kana came to a rest on a sturdy branch and took in his surroundings.

He was standing on one of the uppermost branches of a wick tree. It was older and taller than the one in Bliss, and it dominated the surrounding area.
Bliss.
A face flickered into his mind—a woman's face—and he struggled to place it. She was standing in a large room next to an old player piano. She had tan-colored skin and her arms were covered with strange markings. He knew her. And yet he couldn't say how exactly. Everything felt so foggy in his mind. He felt the way he sometimes
did when he was drifting in and out of sleep—torn between two states of consciousness. “Your name is Kana,” he whispered to himself. “You are from Bliss.”

Suddenly, Kana was aware of the sound of feet jumping quickly across branches. Something was angling through the treetops toward him.
I'll hunt him back to you.
The two creatures were coming. Kana dropped into a crouch and waited. He heard a grunt and the rush of air. He held the knife tightly and prepared to thrust it. The branch that he was standing on shook violently; a darkened figure reached for him, its long fingers only inches from his face. But at the last minute, Kana heard a sickening crunch, and his would-be attacker fell from the branch and plummeted toward the ground.

Kana looked around, sensing the amber-eyed creature nearby. Then he saw her standing on the branch directly next to him. She had appeared as silently as a ghost.

“What happened?” he asked, keeping a tight hold on the knife.

“I got to him first,” said the creature. She gestured to the ground below.

“He's dead?”

“Yes,” she replied.

Kana remembered that other creature's surprise. The memory enraged him. He wanted to jump down and kill the creature himself.

“You are an abomination to us,” the female creature continued. “The Day-dwellers would feel the same way if they knew what you are. Neither world can tolerate your presence.” She spoke to him without emotion, as if these were ordinary
and incontrovertible facts. “It is very simple. Go to the boat, and go on living.”

Kana stared at her impassive face, trying to understand. “The boat—it's a furrier's boat, isn't it?” he asked. “It's one of the small boats that they lash to the side of their ships.”

“If you say so,” she replied. She was a full head taller than Kana, and she craned her neck downward to meet his eyes.

“What's it doing there—in that cave?”

“It will work on the sea—if that's what you're asking.”

“That's not what I'm asking,” replied Kana. His voice had become sharp.
She's toying with me.

She sighed, as if in irritation. “There was a shipwreck and a man landed here in his lifeboat—many years ago. It happened some months before Dawn. Somehow, this man paddled up the river in the cold and darkness. He took refuge in that cave.”

“About fourteen years ago?”

The amber-eyed creature stared at Kana.

“
Yes
.”

Kana recalled his brief encounter with the furrier on the cliffs above the sea, just before everyone boarded the boats to leave the island. The man had been right. Kana
did
have the watery-blue eyes of the furriers. And his eyes had not changed with the rest of his body.

Kana exhaled and leaned against the trunk of the wick tree. “The man who was shipwrecked—he was my father.”

She nodded.

“And the drawings on the wall of the cave?”

“
His
.”

An image rose in Kana's mind. The rectangular mound with the apple tree.

“Is that
his
grave near the cave?”

“
Yes
.”

Kana hesitated. He needed to know, but he was afraid of the answer.

“And my mother?” he asked, straining to keep a tremor out of his voice. He looked into her amber eyes, knowing the answer and daring her to tell the truth.

She looked away, toward the ground. “One of us.”

“Who?” he pressed.

“A despicable woman,” the creature replied. “She left you for dead at the edge of the woods. At Dawn, when you were still an infant.”

“So how . . .”

“Two Day-dwellers found you on a rock, took you in, and cared for you,” said the creature. She raised her hands in a gesture of impatience. “No more chattering. You must leave.”

Kana ignored her command.
Day-dwellers.
That word let loose a torrent of other memories.
Other parents—from the Day.
An image appeared in his confused brain. Table Rock, by the edge of the woods, where his mother came each day to do her needlework. She always looked at him in a particular way when they were there, with a smile that surfaced almost as if she couldn't help it.

“And Marin?” he asked.

The creature shrugged indifferently. “An ordinary Day-dweller. Nothing more.”

“There's something else,” pressed Kana. “Why are you so scared that they'll find me?”

“Enough!” snapped the creature. “We must go—now.”

“Where are Marin and Line?” demanded Kana, and as he spoke, he balanced on the tree branch and pointed the knife toward the creature's chest. The creature's eyes narrowed. She was stronger than Kana, no doubt about it, but all Kana had to do was thrust forward. He held the knife steady, without the slightest tremble. He would do it. And he readied himself for the thrust.

“Where are they?” Kana repeated.

“They are lost—and they have been found, by the hunters. As I said they would.”

Kana's knife drew closer to her. “Where?”

“The canyon—our entrance to the underground.” She nodded her head to the north. “That way. But it's too late to help them.”

“I don't even know your name,” said Kana.

She blinked, then looked away. “Soraya.”

“Soraya,” said Kana. “Thank you.”

Kana made his next move so quickly and impulsively that he almost surprised himself. He tossed the knife toward Soraya, throwing her off balance as she reached for it. Then he dropped into a crouch and leapt spectacularly through the darkness, soaring through eddies of mist onto a faraway tree. He landed and jumped again—heading north.

He half expected Soraya to bring him down, but it didn't happen. Kana leapt from treetop to treetop, and soon he felt his mind emptying of words and thoughts. Action—reaction. That
was all. He would not remember anything when thinking back on this particular moment. A powerful force welled up inside: pulsing, burning aggression.

Kana continued on through the treetops until the forest ended rather abruptly. He perched on the top of another wick tree, whose trunk was shrouded in a spiraling tangle of vines, and peered down into the darkened canyon below. It was at least three miles long, wide at both ends and narrowed dramatically in the center. Where the canyon was wide and open, Kana could see its walls clearly, along with the great stone doorways that were carved into these walls. He recognized the place immediately. He had passed close to it with Marin and Line when they were racing back to town to catch the furrier boats. At the time, Kana had felt something strange and mysterious about the place, and now he understood. This is where they slept, where they hibernated when the sun loomed high in the sky, and where they crawled out when the sun set and the ice began to form.

He heard very little, but felt motion and life below in the canyon, as if it were a cauldron of pent-up energy. He knew what he would find before he even saw it. And somewhere in the canyon below were Marin and Line. He was certain of it.