Nil Unlocked (17 page)

So where is he?

Dex appeared at first light. “How was it, mate?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Quiet.”

He nodded. “You’re off. Get some rest.”

“Will do. Going to go take a dip in the Cove. Then I’ll grab one of your naps.” I smiled.

Dex frowned. “I rather like our new approach to traveling in pairs. Want some company?”

“Nah. I’m good. I just need to clear my head.”
I need to get the kid
out
of my head.

Dex nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m always a bit keyed up after a night on watch myself. It’s Nil in a nutshell, isn’t it? Wait all night for something that may never come? Just like noon.” He laughed without smiling. “We still have a decent stash of mango in the food hut, so if I were you, I’d pop in and grab a bite before your excursion.”

For an instant I thought he’d said “execution.”

I cleared my throat.

“Thanks.” Grinning, I saluted Dex.

Twenty minutes later, I hit the Cove with the sun. Light bounced off the surface like sparks; near the falls, the water churned rough white. I looked around, noting the stillness. If the inked boy was here, he hid himself well.

I dove under the falls, surfaced, and when I stepped into the cave, I was pleased to find the firebow and torches I’d left last week were still there. Even better, they’d dried.

I’d move faster with light.

Using coconut husk as tinder, I worked the bow until it sparked and the tinder caught, then lit the torch. With firelight to guide my way, I didn’t need the arrows; I knew the route cold, but I felt them anyway. And when I came to the bend, I went right. Call it macabre curiosity, call it my newfound island OCD. Whatever it was, I wanted every scrap of information the island was willing to cough up—even a skeleton.

The tunnel curved sharply, and like Jillian said, the passageway stopped abruptly, a dead end. A skeleton lay in a heap against the back wall, facing forward.

Creepy,
I thought, taking in the empty eye sockets, the gaping mouth. Clean bones, tinged with brown, leaving no clue whether the person had collapsed into position or had been kicked into that pose by Jillian.

What were you after? Or was Johan right, this is where you chose to die?
I moved my torch around the passageway, looking.

Above the skeleton at eye level, a carving gouged the stone. A sun, roughly the size of a basketball, with twelve rays. Inside the sun was an almond eye.

Leaning forward, I stared at the eye staring back at me, wondering what it meant and who the hell it was for. And wondering why it was here, marking a dead end.

I stepped toward the skeleton, choosing my footing carefully, and then I slowly pressed the eye.

Nothing.

Stupid.
I shook my head. What did I expect—a secret passageway?

Maybe,
I admitted privately. I wanted the dead end to offer up something. But the sun carving was just a sun; the eye was just an eye. Disappointed, I turned away. I glanced down to pick my footing, caught a clear glimpse of the skeleton, and froze.

A circle wrapped the skeleton’s wrist: a bleached-out circle that didn’t belong. A bracelet. A bone cuff bracelet. Someone on Nil before me wore a bone cuff bracelet.

Ramia,
I remembered.

There are no coincidences on Nil.

This cuff was my clue. I didn’t need to take it; I just needed to figure out what it meant.

I needed Johan.

He’d helped Thad bury her bracelet. Maybe he’d even met her. If my timing was right, they’d overlapped by a few days. But Johan was on Search again, and for all I knew, he was already gone. I hoped he was still here.

Guilt slammed through me, burning like a gate’s shadow.

Selfish,
I thought. But it didn’t change how I felt. All I wanted was a few minutes with Johan. Ten, max. But it was up to Nil, and what the island was willing to give.

My torch flickered.
Go
, whispered the flames.

Moving as quickly as I could, I made my way back to the Looking Glass pool, and when I stepped into the light, I smiled.

The inked boy sat with his legs crossed, his face turned toward the pool, eyes open, jaw slack. The moment I stepped into the cavern, his head whipped toward me and his face darkened.

“You,” he said. He hopped to his feet, his entire body tense. “Why did you come back? This place is not for you! Go back the way you came!” He thrust his finger at the darkness behind me.

I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay awhile.” I walked closer and held out my right hand. My left still held the lit torch. “I’m Rives.”

The boy’s dark eyes flicked to the torch before settling hard on me. “Maaka,” he said. He didn’t take my hand.

I let it drop. “Nice meeting you, Maaka.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, regarding me. “Why did you return?” he asked finally. Less angry, more frustrated.

“To find you.”

Maaka raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

I pointed to his tattoos. “Nice ink, Maaka. You know what’s interesting? Your designs match the ones on the wall.” I walked to the cavern wall and touched the waves, the sun, and the tribal face. “But this one intrigues me the most.” I tapped the interlocking diamonds, a perfect replica of the ones on Maaka’s arms. “A diamond shape, just like this island.”

Maaka stared at me, giving nothing away.

But you will,
I thought.
You already have.

I pulled the carved crescent moon off my neck.

“This is pretty impressive.” I ran my thumb over the smooth wood, then pointed to the carving on the wall—the fresh one that dripped deadleaf juice on my last visit. “And a perfect match. Nice job on both.”

His crossed his arms. “What makes you think I was the carver?”

“Because you have the same moon on your left shoulder. Because you were here before me that day, and this carving was still wet. Because I think you were in the woods that night, watching us. And because I think you know more about Nil than any of us.”

Maaka stared at the carving in my hand, saying nothing.

Point for me.

I took a different tack. “Why don’t you join the City?”

“Because the City is yours.”

“Yours,” I repeated. “You talk about ‘yours’ and ‘ours,’ like the island is divided into groups of people—like the island is divided
among
people.”

“Isn’t it?” Maaka said quietly.

“No,” I said. “All the people on the island are trying to eat and stay alive long enough to have a shot at getting home before their time runs out. That makes us all the same.”

He shook his head. “You are wrong.”

“Tell me why.”

He stared at me. “We are all here for answers, but not the same answers. You have to find yours for yourself, Leader Rives.”

Point for Maaka.
He knew more about me than I knew about him.

“Perhaps,” I said slowly, studying Maaka. “But then why do I feel that you have more answers than anyone?”

Maaka glanced at the water. “I only know what I see. But not everything I see is with my eyes.” He turned to me. “What do you see?”

I answered without thinking. “I see a City full of people who are terrified of what else is roaming the island. I see graves filled with people I cared about. I see death waiting around the corner, and I see life, too. I see hungry kids struggling to survive, and people fighting for their friends. I see people working together and lifting each other up, still able to be awed by the beauty here despite the darkness. I see hope and fear and loss and life. And right now”—I kept my eyes on Maaka’s—“I see someone who knows a lot more than he’s telling.”

Maaka nodded. “You see much. But not all. You see the edges.”

His cryptic answers grated on my tired nerves.

“Tell me something, Maaka. What do you see?”

Maaka stood for a long moment, studying me. Finally he spoke. “I see a Leader who cares for his people but who does not fully respect what he does not know. I see a Leader who has lost himself in the island and rituals. I see a boy who knows the beginning and the end but does not see the middle, and the middle is the most important part. The middle determines the weight and shape, the form and the substance. Life.”

I stared at Maaka, taking in his cool composure, his puzzling words, wondering what the hell were we talking about.

“Doesn’t the middle determine the end?” I asked slowly.

Maaka tilted his head. “The end is already written, the path is set.”

I shook my head. “No way. The middle shapes the end. It follows in sequence. Start, middle, then end. Done.”
Holy shit, I’m turning into Thad.

Maaka’s mouth curved into the hint of a smile, the first one I’d seen. He turned toward the carvings on the wall and pointed at the numbers, 3-2-1-4. “Everything follows a sequence, but it is not always in the order you think.”

I glanced at the numbers. A strange, perfect ten. A numerical sequence that meant nothing to me.

“So this is the end?” I raised my eyebrows.

Maaka looked surprised. “This is the middle.”

“But not for all,” I said, thinking of the Wall dripping crosses. “For some it’s the end.”

He looked thoughtful. “Maybe. And for others, the beginning.”

I couldn’t gauge if he was full of knowledge or full of shit.

“What’s it for you?”

“I think, the middle.”

“You think,” I said skeptically.

He looked at me sharply. “Yes. I
think.
If you are not thinking, you are going through motions without meaning. It is the
why
that drives you forward, that drives growth. Without a why, it is simply an empty day.”

“I don’t think we always know the why,” I said quietly.

Maaka’s fire faded. “True. But that doesn’t mean you should stop seeking it. When you find your middle, you will find your way.” He turned toward the pool. Almost immediately he spun back, his dark eyes intense. “If you come back, do not bring fire. Not in this sacred place.”

“Sacred to
who
?” I asked, frustrated.

Maaka gave me a long look, as if weighing his answer. He opened his mouth, and then, as if he’d thought the better of it, he gave a sharp shake of his head. He pivoted and in one swift move, he dove into the pool and disappeared beneath the water. I doused the torch in the pool and followed, just like before, only this time, I paused at the exit, mentally noting the shape and placement of the ocean entryway.

That extra time cost me.

I lost sight of Maaka. No head bobbing at the ocean’s surface, no one stroking through the waves. Still, I swam toward shore, following the route we’d gone before, wondering where Maaka camped out, since it clearly wasn’t the City.

There were no footprints on the sand, no tracks toward the trees.

No sign of Maaka at all.

Frustration spiked, layered with fury. I felt toyed with, in a game I wasn’t willing to play. A game where I didn’t know the rules.

But there were rules; I felt them. And Maaka knew them by heart.

I left the water and strode toward the trees, slowly sweeping the trees, heading right, toward the cliff that housed the Looking Glass cavern.
Where did you go, Maaka? Where are you hiding?

The island had swallowed him again.

Like the retreat of a wave, my anger gave way to exhaustion. Still, I couldn’t help walking close to the trees, hoping Maaka was there. Hoping he was watching me, and that this time he’d be the one to yield.

Behind me, a twig cracked.

Gotcha
, I thought.

“Decided to give up some answers after all, Maaka?” I grinned as I turned.

To my surprise, a girl stood on the beach. She had wild, curly blond hair that whipped behind her like an untamed halo. Her light eyes sparked with intelligence, set into a heart-shaped face. A slight sunburn colored her nose and cheeks. Green leaves covered her waist and chest, woven together with twine. But the most impressive part of her island getup was the sling weapon slung across her chest and the sleek spear in her hand.

No
, I thought, taking in her expression and stance, the most impressive thing about this girl was her demeanor. Cool and collected, like she held Nil by the balls.

Not a Nil native, more like a Nil natural.

I stared one beat too long.

She strode toward me, raised her free hand, and smiled. “I don’t know who Maaka is, but by any chance, are you Rives?”

CHAPTER

26

SKYE

DAY 3, LATE MORNING

I’d watched the guy exit the ocean.

Like a merman without the fins, he emerged from the depths, well-built and muscular, dripping water and an air of danger. He strode up the beach, wearing nothing but a pair of almost see-through shorts—I tried not to stare—his eyes tracing the tree line with an intensity that held me completely still. He was clearly hunting something—or someone. He radiated power. He looked a little like Charley described, but this guy had no dreadlocks, and Charley had clearly said Rives had dreads.

He stopped halfway to the trees, his square jaw hard, his broad shoulders braced and tight.

Involuntarily, I took a step back.

Then he sighed heavily, his eyes still on the trees. His fury was gone, taking the aura of danger with it. Now his expression vacillated between worried and frustrated, and standing silently with his hands on his hips, he looked every inch the confident Leader Charley had described.
But no dreads.

I frowned.

He drew closer, close enough for me to see his eyes.

Rives,
I thought.

His eyes were just as Charley described. Pale green—like summer limeade, she’d told me—but they reminded me more of Caribbean water. Troubled water. Underneath his eyes, half-moon streaks clung to his skin, shadows of night that whispered all kinds of tired.

Up close, this guy looked more exhausted than dangerous, like he carried the weight of a City on his shoulders. It had to be Rives.