Nightfall (30 page)

They floated through the Night, as if riding the current of an endless dream. To slake their thirst, they collected melted snow and rainwater in the leather flask. For food, Line tore off a slat of wood from the boat and made a rudimentary harpoon; it was good enough to catch migrating eels. Thanks to the lekar, Line's arm healed steadily. The swelling subsided and his fevers ceased.

Each of them took shifts at the rudder, guiding the small boat along the river's serpentine bends and between the many gravel shoals that emerged. In places, the Coil itself widened enormously, fanning out to cover great expanses, so that it was just several inches deep. On these occasions, they hoisted up the keel and the rudder, and pushed the boat across the rocks and dried kelp. Elsewhere, the river narrowed into tight chutes and then dropped down into craters where river water had pooled to form small lakes. It didn't matter—they simply followed the current.

Marin spent hours staring at the horizon, which seemed to
be growing lighter. The air warmed to the point where fog was common. Oddly enough, she didn't worry about all the things that could still go wrong. She was too tired and too numb to worry. Right now she was safe and she needed to rest. Her thoughts wandered, to the desert camp and the two-humped horses from the storybooks. She pictured the sand dunes, and the mountains, and the warmth of the sun on her face.

If they made it to the Desert Lands, they would remain there for fourteen years. Marin would spend the rest of her childhood there, would become an adult there, would get married there, might even have a child there. She tried to envision Line as her husband but couldn't quite see it. And then she imagined Kana in the blinding sunlight—and the thought filled her with sorrow. Of course he had to leave the island, but still, life in the desert would not be easy for him.

Marin would be twenty-eight years old when she returned to the island. Twenty-eight. It was hard to fathom. Back before all of this happened—before she knew what lurked deep in the woods of the island—she had loved this place. But how could she sleep in her bed, walk by the edge of the woods, visit the old cemetery, and sail to the Dwarf Oak Islands without feeling a current of fear? Could these places possibly feel like home again? The dark would be with them forever—even in the brightest hours of Day.

As Marin considered this, she was suddenly more sympathetic to the possibility that her parents—and other adults—may have chosen wisely
not
to know what lurked in the woods.

Not that any of this mattered now. Those worries were years
away. When—or if—she returned, she vowed to do so only if Line and Kana were with her. They knew the truth. And the knowing bound them together.

At one point, when the Coil poured into a newly formed lake along the seabed, they stopped for several hours. Kana and Line worked together to chase fish into the shallow areas, where they caught half a dozen flatheads with the makeshift harpoon. The boat was several hundred feet away, and they walked slowly, pleased with their catch. Walking together like that reminded Line of the times when he and Kana were in the forest together. They had been such good friends then.

As they walked back to Marin, Line turned to Kana and smiled. “You still have that flint, right?” he said. “I'm getting tired of eating stuff raw.”

“Sure,” Kana said. “We'll just grab some driftwood and dried seaweed. It'll smoke a bit, but that might make it taste better.”

Line took in Kana's features—his body somehow seemed smaller, leaner, and frailer.
Is he already changing back? It's hard to tell.

He clasped Kana's shoulder. “You're a good man to have around.”

Kana stood there awkwardly.

“Line,” said Kana finally, with a trace of a stammer in his throat. “Back there in the forest—for a long time—I wasn't myself.” He paused, trying and failing to find the right words to describe the way his mind had transformed. “Something was pulling at me . . .”

“It's okay,” said Line. “You don't have to explain.”

“But I want to.”

“And you can,” said Line. “Sometimes it takes time, though, to figure things out. It was like that after my mom died.” He paused and smiled. “You know—you were there.”

Kana nodded.

“Are you . . . back to the way you were?” asked Line. As he said this, he glanced at Kana's feet.

“Kind of,” replied Kana. “Physically I'm pretty close to how I was before . . . but I don't think I'll ever really be the same. Truth is—I don't know if I'd
want
to go back to being that person. Maybe I knew, even back then, that something wasn't right. I just didn't know what.”

Line looked toward the horizon, where they could see the sky lightening. “What happens next, do you think?”

“I'm not sure,” replied Kana.

“Well,” said Line with a determined nod, “some cooked flatheads will help.”

Kana nodded. “Sounds good.”

An hour later, they were on their way, continuing down the now wide and slow-moving Coil River. Kana saw a deep purple on the far western sky. It might be a while yet before they saw the sun, but if they made it, Kana knew it would mark a shift within himself. He had told Line the truth. He was changing. As time passed, his eyes weren't quite as sharp as they had been and his breathing was less rapid. More strikingly, his feet seemed smaller—as did his talons—and the skin along his ankles and lower calves began to grow back while his greenish scales dried and peeled off. To Kana, these changes were bittersweet. He remembered the exhilaration of speeding through the treetops, alive with powers he never imagined he
might possess. That strength was fading now, and he hated to lose it. Perhaps in the Desert Lands, during the three days of Night, he'd get some of it back.

They continued downstream, past great, twisting chimneys of dying coral that had been abandoned by the sea. Once they saw the skeleton of a massive whale, propped up vertically on a series of boulders. Its rib cage looked like the scaffolding of a great, half-built tower. Later, they saw an old barnacle-covered shipwreck that had probably been on the floor of the sea for centuries.

In idle moments, Marin speculated about the life that was waiting in the Desert Lands. It made Kana uneasy. Even before Nightfall he'd been an outsider among what Soraya had called “the Day-dwellers.”

Soraya.

Kana didn't let himself contemplate what had happened to her—whether she was still alive. Everything was still so raw and unresolved in his own mind. However, he happily recalled the cave with the drawings on the wall. He pictured his father, standing there in the flickering light of a campfire, carefully etching the paint onto the slabs of smooth stone, and he imagined Soraya with him in the darkness.

“You'll see her again,” Marin said at one point, unprompted, as if she had been reading his thoughts. “She's strong . . . she'll survive.”

Kana sighed heavily, obviously unconvinced.

“Marin,” he said after some time. “You know who she is—right?”

Marin nodded.

“And that means that we're not really . . .”

Marin scoffed. “We'll always be twins,” she said before he could finish. “Nothing can change that. You're stuck with me.” She paused. “And at Dawn, when we return to the island, we'll look for her.”

Kana raised his eyebrows. “When we return to the island?”

“Don't,” said Marin with a smile.

“Don't what?”

“Don't assume we're never going back. Or that, if we do, nothing good will come from it,” said Marin.

“What makes you so certain that's what I'm thinking?” he asked.

“Because
I know you
,” Marin replied. She reached through the darkness, and her arms—which still glowed from the markings of her hastily drawn tattoos—encircled him. “I know you better than anyone else in the world.”

Kana said nothing, but he hugged her back. Line sat quietly in the stern of the boat and
smiled.

They smelled the ocean before they saw it, and they felt the salt from the air on their faces. In time, they heard the distant caw of seagulls and the muted, far-off rumbling of the surf. Soon the boat began to accelerate. They could feel the pull of the sea as the vessel was buffeted by the chop. Seawater began to spray around them. Waves rocked the boat. And then, in an instant, the Coil had faded away and they were at sea—surrounded by an expanse of water that stretched toward the horizon.

“We did it!” shouted Line above the noise of the surf. He was sitting in the stern of the boat with his hand on the tiller. “Kana!” he yelled. “We need to raise the mast and the sails!”

“Got it!” Kana bellowed. Marin helped him, and within a few minutes, they had put up the mainsail and were moving at a steady clip, farther out to sea. As they sailed, Marin climbed back to the stern on the boat and sat down next to Line. She then reached into her shirt and took off the sunstone that hung around her neck. She felt its weight in the palm of her hand, and then handed it to Line.

“It's yours,” she said. “I want you to have it.”

Line stared at the sunstone, then at her. A moment later, he grinned.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Marin. “Now use it.”

Line nodded. “Take the tiller.”

Marin grabbed it as Line climbed toward the bow. He passed Kana along the way, held up the sunstone, and smiled. Kana smiled back. When he reached the bow, Line raised the sunstone to the western sky, which was shimmering with the effervescence of Dawn. The stone glowed and cast a thin slice of light on one of the 360 hash marks that lined the circumference of the pendant.

“We're at two-oh-five,” Line called out. “Bring us slightly to port. We need to be at two twenty-one.” Marin nodded and turned the boat. Line studied the markings on the pendant as the stripe of light moved slowly, finally settling at 221. “All right!” hollered Line. He felt the wind at his back and pointed straight ahead.

“Are we good?” asked Kana.

“Yes,” said Line, gazing out across the trackless ocean. “I think
so.”

Before we had a title or characters for
Nightfall
, we talked about how it should feel. We talked at length about darkness and about night. There was a time, not long ago, when darkness evoked a primal fear. Before the advent of electric lights, night was something very powerful for humankind. Crimes committed at night, for example, often carried stiffer penalties. In the evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, a tinge of worry would creep up people's spines. Night was something to fear. And this was the feeling that we hoped to conjure.

This book was a powerful lesson in collaboration: despite throwing everything we had into it, the two of us still came up short. What pushed this book across the finish line was the help we received from so many. We shared our very first drafts of
Nightfall
with Tina Bennett and Svetlana Katz at WME, and our gratitude for Tina's advocacy and advice, and to Svetlana for her wise counsel, is profound. They never, ever gave up on this book—or on us. We are grateful to others at WME who improved this book, especially Kathleen Nishimoto, as well as Laura Bonner and Janine Kamouh for their assistance on
foreign rights. To Alicia Gordon and Erin Conroy, who represent the book for movie and television rights, we're thrilled to be working with you!

Family and a few closest friends gave crucial input as we prepared the book for submission. To Tamar Halpern, Micah Nathan, Dan Kujawinski, Nancy Kujawinski, Brian Zittel, and Paul Zuydhoek, thank you for being there at the beginning, and for your advice and help throughout. You were truly our first editors.

It was an uncertain and turbulent road to publication, but that all changed when we signed with Penguin. From the very first phone call with Putnam publisher Jen Besser, we felt at home. Jen's expertise and confidence was exactly what we needed—and what we continue to rely upon. As for our editor, Ari Lewin: WOW. You were
exactly
what we needed, at perhaps the most critical moment in the book's evolution—your creativity, talent, and superb editing skills were a wonder to behold. We hit the jackpot with you as our editor, and we can't imagine this book—or other future books—without you.

To Katherine Perkins—Perkins!—assistant editor and Ari's muse, thank you for your creativity and for being part of this incredibly impressive Putnam team.

Penguin's competitive advantage became crystal clear when we met with the marketing and publicity groups. The marketing group's intellect, passion, and energy made our day, thanks to Emily Romero, Erin Berger, Lisa Kelly, Anna Jarzab, Rachel Cone-Gorham, Leah Schiano, and Carmela Iaria. To our publicity gurus, Lindsay Boggs and Shanta Newlin, we owe HUGE thanks. Your enthusiasm encouraged us to double down. To
designer Kristin Smith, who created our cover, we couldn't have imagined a better introduction to the feeling we wanted the book to evoke. . . . To art director Cecilia Yung and map creator Martin Sanders, thank you for turning our awkward scribbles into something beautiful.

After spending some time with Penguin executives, it's clear how fortunate we are to be with this incredible group. Their leadership, intelligence, and passion are a wonder to behold. Don Weisberg, Felicia Frazier and Jen Loja are the best in the business—and we're hoping to work with them for years to come.

Peter: To my mom, Jo Kujawinski, your strength and laughter keep me going. To my dad, Frank Kujawinski, thank you for teaching me how to write—I miss you. To my brother, Dan Kujawinski, you teach me how to live. To my sister, Liza Kujawinski-Behn, you're the ultimate role model. And to my mother-in-law, Arlene Weinsier, thank you for your encouragement and your talent with the camera.
Nightfall
is dedicated to my children, Blaze, Alina, and Sylvie, who fill my life with the purest joy imaginable. To my wife, Nancy Celia Rose, from that moment decades ago when you entered my life, you have been my everything.

Jake: To my sons, Sebastian and Lucian, this book is for you. Someday, I hope you will take it off the shelf, dust it off, read these words, and remember just how dearly your father loved and loves you. Special thanks goes to my mother, Tamar Halpern, for her endless devotion and encouragement on this book. I am also grateful to a number of other friends and family members, including Stephen Halpern, Betty Stanton,
Paul Zuydhoek, Barbara Lipska, Mirek Gorski, Greg Halpern, Ahndraya Parlato, Roya Reese, Lila Kleppner, Brian Groh, Brad Collins, and Emily Bazelon. I am also indebted to Aaron Poach, Amanda Zapatka, and Ralphie Sylvester for keeping me fit and sane. Finally, to my wife, Kasia, thank you for reminding me in so many ways that I must always “Hold on to what you believe in the light / When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight.”