Nil Unlocked (14 page)

He hesitated.

“Dad, stay.” I patted my backpack, full of all the necessary communication equipment. “I’m
fine
. And it’s not noon,” I whispered, shooting him a pointed look.

“Okay,” he said, relaxing. “But don’t be long.”

I wandered down to the beach. Twilight was falling, and the sunset would be stunning from here. The fine white sand under my feet was soft. The sand grew chunkier, interspersed with rocks, and without warning the sand turned charcoal black. The beach curved, the restaurant faded from sight, and just as I was about to turn around, I saw the boy. The same one I’d seen earlier with his parents when he was throwing rocks into the sea. He still wore his yellow lei. He held a rope tied to a goat in one hand; his other hand held something I couldn’t see. Something small. A basket sat on the ground, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it held a cat.

He stood staring at a pair of canoes. He dropped his head, then with his eyes closed, tossed something toward the canoes. It landed in the well of one canoe with a
thunk
.

The boy lifted his head and strode forward. He peered inside both canoes, then reached inside the second one, retrieved what he’d thrown—it looked like a conch shell—and threw it far into the sea. Still holding the goat’s tether, he picked up the animal and set the goat inside the same canoe where he’d landed the shell. He did the same with the basket and cat. Then he looked around, furtively, as if to see if anyone was watching. Moving quickly, he reached into the other canoe, picked up a small cage with a chicken, liberated the poultry, and set the chicken in his canoe with the goat. Then he pushed the canoe off the beach, hopped in, and started paddling. He moved swiftly through the break, the nose of his canoe bouncing up, then down, staying true toward the open sea. Past the break, he cut a sharp left.

No way
, I thought, my eyes tracking his course.

He was paddling straight toward the Death Twins.

Not for you
, the unfriendly boat captain had warned, pointing toward those same islands.

Why not?
I wondered.

Sometimes, Skye … you must take a chance.

The second canoe sat on the beach, complete with a paddle and no chicken.

I didn’t hesitate. Keeping low, I ran across the sand and hijacked the second canoe.

It was time to take a chance.

CHAPTER

20

SKYE

DECEMBER 21, NEARLY NIGHT

Paddling a canoe through the open ocean at twilight was harder than it looked.

The dim light blurred the water. Dark blue waves broke fast and hard, pushing me back, like the ocean was protecting the Death Twins, too. Those were the moments when I was terrified the boy would turn around and see me, and I’d freeze. But then I’d think,
So what if he does? And who can see a thing through this crappy light?
Then I’d dig my paddle deep into the ocean’s gut and lurch forward, determined not to let the boy out of my sight.

The gap between us widened and I made a choice: paddle
hard.
Better to keep up with him and risk getting spotted than to lose him. After all, maybe the boy knew a secret route to the Death Twins that would keep me from getting killed. Of the two of us, he was the only one who knew where he was going.

I was an uninvited plus-one.

Oddly enough, he hadn’t turned around once; he was completely intent on his destination. Plus he had a feisty goat and a stolen chicken to contend with, so his abridged Noah’s Ark trumped my empty canoe as far as distractions went.

I picked up my speed. The sun disappeared. The water darkened to black, and the air cooled. I shivered, wishing I had a sweater, or better yet, a shred of common sense. This impromptu canoe ride suddenly seemed dangerously stupid.

I was as bad as my dad. I guess curiosity was genetic after all.

But nothing about this boy made sense. His bearing screamed the opposite of brave, and yet here he was, paddling out to an allegedly deadly island at night, on his birthday no less.

Most people got cake. He apparently got a goat, a solo canoe ride, and a burst of bravado, enough to steal a chicken. Who steals a chicken?

You stole a canoe,
my conscience chided.

I told my conscience to shut the heck up.

And then there were the words I’d heard falling from the dad’s lips and carried by the wind:
Spirit Island.

Maybe that was this boy’s birthday gift. But was he running toward it, or away from it?

I had to know.

The moon rose as the boy disappeared behind one of the islands. When I rounded the shore, an empty canoe was pulled up onto the beach, and the boy, goat, and stolen poultry were nowhere in sight. A black cat sat at the tree line, its tail flicking quietly, its yellow eyes on me, watching. The cat creeped me out more than the dark water.

About twenty yards from the boy’s canoe, I landed, dragged mine higher on the beach, and draped a few fallen palm fronds to cover it. Ignoring the creepy cat, I jogged over to the boy’s canoe and followed the prints. Goat hooves in sand make for easy tracking.

Away from the beach, the darkness thickened with the trees.

I walked faster, and a few minutes later I saw the kid, off to my right. Walking slowly, he still carried the chicken and cat basket and led the goat. He looked as happy as a visitor to a wake. His festive lei was out of place.

I crept along, keeping the boy in sight. The half-moon was bright enough to both guide me and give me away, forcing me to keep my distance.

Eventually, he stopped. The trees ended abruptly in an open area of flat black rock. The boy stood in the very center, turning in a slow circle, still holding the goat’s rope. For one terrified instant I thought he spotted me, but he kept turning. Then he dropped to his knees, studying the ground. He traced invisible lines in the air, lines that formed lazy circles and mysterious shapes.

Standing again, he backed up to the edge of the flat rock, dropped his head, and sat down with a sigh. The chicken squawked.

“Shut up,” the boy grumbled. “It’s not your funeral.”

I fumbled for my phone, knowing I should text my dad and tell him I was okay. Just as I fished it out of my backpack, something furry brushed my leg. A cat, this one a tabby.

Weird
, I thought.
Cat island
. I wasn’t a fan. I’d never been a cat person, probably because I had allergies.

The cat meowed.

I backed up, worried the cat might call the boy’s attention to me; same for the glow of my phone’s screen. I shielded my phone with my hand.

No signal; I’d forgotten.
Crap.

I stashed my worthless phone back in my backpack and refocused on the boy.

He hadn’t moved. He seemed oblivious to everything but whatever was going on in his head.

I didn’t need a degree in astrophysics to know the boy was waiting for something, I just didn’t know what. But my instincts told me it was something more important than a birthday cake.

At midnight, my answer rose from the ground.

In the center of the black rock, the ground turned liquid, the surface rippling and roiling where solid rock should be. Without warning, the wavering ground rocketed up into the air and stopped; now it was an invisible wall framed by the night, black on black, the shimmering lines defining where night began and the weird air ended. Then the inside black fell away. A sheer wall of translucent air shimmered in the night like a million specks of diamonds reflecting the moon itself, and yet I could still see through it. Almost.

It writhed in place, waiting.

The boy strode forward and threw the chicken toward the weird veil of shimmering air. The bird hit the air wall and disappeared. The boy waited; I could vaguely see his lips moving. Then he pushed the very reluctant goat forward. The goat seemed to get sucked into the shimmering wall, and then, like the chicken, it too disappeared. Again the boy waited. I realized he was counting to three. Then, with a backward glance at the gray cat in the basket, the boy stepped into the rippling air and vanished.

A white cat shot from the dark, into the glistening wall after the boy. Boom. Gone.

The air still shimmered. Still waiting.

I burst from my hiding spot and ran straight toward the wall, every cell in my being telling me that this was a gate, a gate to Nil exactly like my Uncle Scott had described, only this gate didn’t move and
how the heck did the boy know one would appear?

One …

Two …

I hit the shimmering air on three and it clung to me like warm sludge; it held me, wrapped around me, and as I fought to breathe, heat poured into every pore … every cell … every last speck of
me
.

And when the heat washed through my eyes, stealing my sight, I screamed, and yet I didn’t. No sound escaped; there was no air.

There was no me.

And yet, I was still here.

Just when I thought I would explode from the heat, every cell went ice cold. I fractured into a billion brittle bits, knit together by invisible thread that I held tight with my mind … I grasped it with every ounce of strength I had, holding on in the sheer black
nothingness
—and then it slipped. Drifted away, out of reach.

Gone.

Like me.

CHAPTER

21

RIVES

DAY 276, JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT

I woke with a jolt.

My hand automatically sought my blade in the dark. The sea hissed my name with an intensity that made me sit up.

I was alone.

And yet I wasn’t.

The island’s presence filled my hut like invisible smoke. The night air vibrated with energy, but it wasn’t just the air: it was the ground, the sea, the very DNA of the island itself. It reminded me of the night when I’d woken from my deadsleep coma, fully alive, only right now it was
Nil
that vibrated with life. My blood pulsed in time with an invisible beat.

I’d felt this island vibe once before, but never so potent. Never so overwhelming.

And then it was gone.

Invisible smoke, sucked away by an invisible wind.

Outside my hut, Zane patrolled listlessly. He spun the instant I left my hut.

“What’s up, Chief?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Did you feel that?” I asked.

“Feel what? A tremor?”

I shook my head. “Not a quake. It was something else. Something powerful, like a pulse. Deep in the island. I’m not sure what it was.”

Zane shook his head. “I didn’t feel a thing, dude.” He glanced toward Mount Nil. “I sure hope she’s not going to blow her top.”

“I hope not, too. But whatever it was, it’s gone.”

“Amen,” Zane said. He was still looking at the mountain. I wondered if Zane had felt something after all.

“Go sleep,” I said. “I’ve got this.”

“You sure?” Shadows of hesitation flickered across his face.

“I’m sure. I’ve slept. You haven’t.” I opted not to mention I’d just sacked out minutes before I’d been woken up. “Go.” I reached out my hand. “I’ll take your torch, though.”

Zane didn’t protest twice.

I stood near the firepit, alone again.

Assessing again.

Because the same feeling that had woken me whispered that the island’s vibe had shifted in a new direction.
Maybe this shift is in our favor
, I thought, sweeping the darkness beyond the City.
Maybe something good is coming.

God knows we’re due.

Actually, we were overdue. I’d just realized there would be no rooster calls at dawn, because the rooster was gone. Snatched, like the goat. The bird had made a tasty midnight snack for something.

Something with fur.

A tuft of coarse gold fur glinted in the torchlight, snagged on the rough wood of the chicken pen. Cat or dog, leopard or hyena, it was a toss-up. I couldn’t tell what animal had been the attacker, other than one that was hungry. And a chicken was an appetizer compared to a meaty goat.

I looked at the pair of hens huddled in the pen’s far corner.
I’d huddle up, too, if I were you,
I thought.

Then I realized
I am you
.

The only difference between my house and the chicken coop was that mine had a thatched roof. Not exactly reassuring.

And I still hadn’t seen Burton.

Michael appeared out of the dark, from the hut Zane just entered.

“Everything okay?” I asked quietly.

“Can’t sleep,” he said. He looked around, unsmiling. I’d never seen him smile, not once. Then again, Nil didn’t lend itself to humor. “How goes the night?”

“Bad for the rooster.” I gestured toward the pen.

Michael muttered something in Korean that sounded like a curse.

“Sitting here, like ducks”—he gestured around the City as he spoke—“fire is not enough.”

“I know. And the deadleaf barrier isn’t enough, either. It’s all defensive. We need a better plan,” I said.
Before we become prey.

I glanced at the empty goat pen. Maybe we already were.

“I will think,” he said simply, “and try to sleep. Tomorrow night I will take your watch.” He nodded, his black hair falling in his eyes. He’d finally been here long enough to need a haircut. He turned back to his hut.

I watched him go, assessing. Michael’s build was strong, his footfalls quiet. And he was the best fisherman since Miguel. He’d gained muscle since he’d arrived, not to mention confidence.

Maybe I should trust him with more. His take on sitting ducks was dead-on.

My eyes drifted to the mountain, the highest point on Nil. I had the strangest urge to go there,
right now,
to see the island through Nil’s eyes.

Come,
the wind whispered.
Come and see.

I turned away, fighting myself. Fighting Nil. Trying to think and figure out what was coming.