Nightfall

by Jake Halpern

  Kana stepped back to see the entire door, then looked up and down the hallway.

  “That’s it,” he concluded. He patted the door. “I never realized how thick this is—any other door . . .”

  Marin came into the hallway. “The hash marks must represent the three of us.”

  “How could it know there’s three of us?” asked Kana. “Whatever it was—it was on the other side of the door. It couldn’t see us.”

  Marin walked down the hallway to the top of the staircase. She listened intently but heard nothing. The creature had vanished—or else it was just being very quiet. That last thought gave her a shiver, and she hurried back to Kana and Line.

  “Let’s go back inside,” she said. “We won’t figure anything out standing here in the hallway.”

  Upon entering the room, they immediately pushed the barricade back into place. Marin lit a few more candles, and they sat together on the couches. Going back to sleep was impossible. A clock on the wall read six thirty, not that it mattered. Still, Marin took the clock off the wall and wound it. Time was just an abstract concept, not a description of anything real. But it was Marin’s habit to wind clocks and she saw no reason to stop now.

  They sat on the couches, speaking softly but mainly listening, for a full hour. Nothing stirred. Finally, Marin stood up, stretched, and began pacing from one end of the room to the other. After a few minutes, she spoke. “We need to eat—even if that means going outside.”

  “I agree,” said Line. He reached over to an end table and lit a candle. The room shimmered in a murky half-light. “Now that you mention it, I’m starving.”

  “We also should talk about a plan to get off the island,” continued Marin. “You guys were right about—”

  Kana sat up abruptly. “I don’t believe my ears,” he said.

  “She said it,” confirmed Line, laughing.

  “If you’re finished gloating . . . ,” Marin said. “The point is—we can’t count on getting rescued. Our problem is the tide. Right? The tide is supposed to roll out for a long time, and far—maybe hundreds of miles. So walking to the ocean doesn’t make sense, because once we get there, what do we do? To have any chance of getting to the Desert Lands, we need two things. One: a boat. Two . . .”

  “A way to the sea,” finished Line.

  Marin turned toward Line and nodded. “Right. So what about the Coil River? Doesn’t it start east of here, somewhere in the forest?”

  Line sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Yes,” he replied. “It’s fed by an aquifer and dumps into Southerly Bay.” After a pause, he continued. “I’ve sailed up the Coil before. There’s a little fishing depot about a mile or two upriver. The freshwater fishermen keep it stocked.”

  “Exactly,” said Marin, her eyes locking first with Line’s, then Kana’s. “Dad used to go nearby that depot to fish. There’s a hut there—right? He got to it by sailing around Shiprock Point, and then into the bay.”

  Line stood up and walked to the pool. He leaned over and felt the water—it was still hot. He turned back to Marin. “That’s how people usually go,” he said. “And the depot always had an emergency boat, just in case there was trouble.” He thought about this awhile longer. “But how does that get us off the island? The water’s gone. Southerly Bay must be a desert right now—filled with dead fish.”

  “Think about it,” insisted Marin. “If there’s a river flowing from the island, it won’t just stop now that the ocean has receded. It’ll keep flowing across the old seabed, until it reaches the sea.”

  Kana couldn’t help but grin. Marin was right.

  Marin turned to him, her eyes flashing with excitement. “If we can get to the fishing depot, we can take the spare boat all the way to the sea. From there, we head southwest. This may have been the emergency plan the mayor was talking about. He mentioned the Coil, remember?”

  Kana looked up at Line. “It sounds promising. Line, what do you think? You’re the best sailor here—could we actually cross the sea in that fishing depot boat?”

  Line raised his wounded arm above his head and let it drop. He grimaced. “That boat is small, but at least it has a sail. It’s only meant to get around Shiprock Point, but if we manage to avoid storms, we’d get pretty far.” He glanced at Marin. “But what we really need is . . .”

  “A sunstone,” finished Marin.

  The two of them locked eyes, remembering yet again that day by the pond, deep in the forest. Line nodded. “To get to the Desert Lands, the furriers sail just shy of southwest, at two hundred twenty-one degrees. With a sunstone, it’d be easy to follow them.”

  “If it’s so easy, why do we go with the furriers instead of building our own boats?” asked Kana. “It seems crazy to depend on them.”

  “I didn’t say it was easy,” replied Line. “Just easy to follow them—for a while. Storms come to the North Seas around Nightfall. And the furriers have the right kind of boats for storms. We’d have to be unbelievably lucky with the weather, and with getting enough water and supplies—”

  “You may be right,” interrupted Marin. She put a hand on Line’s shoulder as she spoke. “But there’s no point in talking about that now. I’d love to be worrying about ocean storms—it would mean we’re off the island. What we need now is a destination. Let’s scrounge up all the supplies we can and head for the fishing outpost.”

  Line had a faraway look in his eyes. “I wish we had a map of the island. It might help us get to the depot quicker.”

  “I have one hanging in my room back at Shadow House,” replied Kana. “I can get it.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Marin. “I want to check the grocer’s stand next to the hourglass to see if any food was left behind.”

  “What about the visitor—the creature or whatever it was?” asked Line. “Maybe we should all go.”

  Marin glanced at Line’s arm. “You need to rest,” she said. “Kana can take me there on his way to Shadow House. I’ll go to the grocer’s stand and head straight back.”

  Kana looked unconvinced. “On your own?”

  “I’ll bring a candle,” she replied. “Besides, the signal lamp is still on. And the moon is out.”

  “Speaking of the signal lamp,” said Line. “What do we do now—just leave it on?” His voice sounded reedy and distant.

  “Why not?” said Marin. She walked to a nearby chair and picked up the oilskin jacket she’d found downstairs. “They could still come back for us.” With an air of finality—discussion over—Marin looked at Kana. “Ready?”

  Instead of answering, Kana watched Line walk to the nearest sofa and lie down. Kana’s eyesight was so sharp that he could see the sweat gathering along his friend’s hairline, even though the room was quite cold. “Line—are you all right?” he asked.

  Line didn’t hear him. He was lost in thought. His mind turned over the sequence of events leading up to this moment: losing the sunstone, leaving Francis alone in the house, going into the woods after the tide turned, falling into the pit, missing the boats. He could call it bad luck, but that would be dishonest. It was mistake after mistake. All his.

  “Line?” said Kana again.

  Line picked up the corners of his sweater and used them to wipe his cheeks. After several long seconds, he turned to look at Marin and Kana. His eyes glimmered wetly in the candlelight.

  “I’m sorry,” said Line at last. “It’s my brother . . . I just can’t stop thinking about him.”

  Marin walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Francis is safe,” she whispered. She put a hand on top of his head and ran her fingers through his thick brown hair.

  Line nodded slightly. Of course that’s what you would say. But that doesn’t mean it’s true.

  Kana sat down next to Marin and shook his head. “I feel bad for Mom and Dad, too,” said Kana. “I’m sure everyone will think it’s
their fault. Because they couldn’t keep track of us.”

  “Maybe they can take care of Francis,” whispered Line. He sighed heavily.

  “Everyone will take care of Francis,” insisted Marin. She tried to sound confident—as if this were a certainty. “We’ll get to the Desert Lands. We just have to stay focused.” She patted Kana on the arm. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 25

  As they left Deep Well House, Kana drew Marin’s attention to its ornate cupola, which was built into the ceiling of the banquet hall. One of its four windows had come unlocked, and the wind pushed it back and forth on its hinges.

  After noticing the open window, they walked to the wall closest to the cupola. Kana examined the ornate carvings on the wood paneling, which—in this particular spot—was a rendering of a flowing river. There were also a great many small divots—deep and perfectly circular, uniformly distributed across the wall.

  A tingle ran up Marin’s spine. She had seen these divots before—beneath the carpets in her parents’ house. Somehow, this is important—it means something—but what?

  Together they left Deep Well House and headed down the narrow path to town. The last time Marin and Kana had walked this way, they’d been rolling an empty wheelbarrow home. Although the path was the same, everything else was different: the moon rising in the darkness, the thin layer of frost that had appeared on the grass, and a faint smell of dust and cold mud. To keep from tripping as they walked, Marin held Kana’s arm. They paused frequently to listen. There was only the sound of their own feet as they moved quickly along the path.

  Marin shivered. “When you go home, see if there are any blankets,” she whispered. “It’s so cold—and I’m guessing it’s going to get worse.”

  “Okay,” Kana whispered back. He stopped a minute later when they reached a fork in the road. He listened and looked but sensed nothing unusual.

  “You really want to go by yourself?” he asked. “It’s so dark, and—speaking from experience—it can be terrifying to be blind.”

  Marin nodded and squeezed his hands. She smiled. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I have the candle—and the signal lamp.”

  Kana turned and eyed Deep Well House. The signal lamp was shining bright as a beacon. He turned back to Marin. “Okay, then,” said Kana. “Take the fork on the right. You should reach the grocer’s stand in less than five minutes. Watch where you’re going.” As he watched her walk away, Kana fought the temptation to chase after her. She’ll be okay. Marin is always okay.

  He turned to the task at hand. It was simple enough. Get the map, he told himself. Get the map and get back to the mayor’s house. As he pressed on, the path skirted close to the woods, and his thoughts drifted to the woman from his dream. It was as if she hid in the darkened corners of his brain, appearing only when he was alone. He repeated all his usual mantras. It’s just a dream. Don’t obsess. Stay focused. Dreams aren’t real.

  In truth, it wasn’t just the dream that bothered him.

  In the last few months, as the sky had grown darker, he had sometimes felt as if he was being shadowed. When he ran by the woods, he swore he could hear the faintest sound of footsteps running alongside him. Whenever this happened, he thought of his great-aunt Malony. But he also considered the alternative: What if he wasn’t going mad?

  Kana crested a small hill that offered a panoramic view of the distant sea. The tide had rolled out a mile or so—maybe more. Moonlight glinted off the exposed sand. He was shocked to see how quickly it had happened. Indeed, it felt as if everything was happening faster than expected—the sun setting, the tide going out, the dark falling, and Bliss being abandoned.

  He began to run, which helped focus his thoughts. Soon his house came into view. It lay vacant, still, and cold—like a corpse. As he drew nearer, he saw that it was just as his family had left it. Lights were out, curtains were drawn, the front door was open just a crack. For a moment, he was seized by the desire to turn and retreat. This is ridiculous, he thought. He pushed open the front door, which issued a long creak that echoed through the house.

  “Hello!” The moment he spoke, he felt stupid. Who am I expecting? Still, he couldn’t help calling out again, “Hello!” His voice bounced harshly off the walls. It sounded different in the empty house. Kana walked through the entryway and down the main hallway into the parlor. There were no carpets to muffle the sound of his footsteps. It was very dark. He entered the parlor and was walking across the room when dimly—as if via a sixth sense—he perceived that something was off about the room.

  He craned his neck upward. Splayed across the ceiling in blue, faintly glowing ink were thousands of symbols. The writing covered the ceiling and the rafters. In the middle of it all was a circular object resting on clouds—the moon.

  Just then, a floorboard groaned overhead. Kana suppressed a childlike impulse to yell for his parents. Then he heard a slightly different sound. It was the strain of old wood torquing under pressure, creaking rhythmically—as if someone was in his room, rocking back and forth on the old chair. Then a barely audible whispering started—just like in his dream.

  “Hello?” he said in a near whisper.

  The only reply was the steady creak of the rocking chair.

  Kana barely contained the urge to run. He needed the map of the island and the map was in his room. I’m imagining those sounds, he told himself. He needed the map. He needed to go upstairs. So he walked to the main stairs and began climbing. The floorboards groaned under the weight of each step that he took.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he could still hear the creaking of the old rocking chair. Down the long, darkened hallway, the door to Kana’s room was cracked open slightly, just as he’d left it. He walked deliberately toward it. When he reached the door itself, the whispering stopped. He had just moved his hand toward the doorknob when a soft whisper of a voice scratched its way through the darkness.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” It was a woman’s voice. The woman from his dream.

  Kana froze. For a second it felt like his knees were too weak to hold him up.

  “Who are you?” asked Kana, voice trembling.

  “I’m all you have.”

  Kana placed his hand upon the doorknob and opened the door. He scanned the room. It was empty, but the window that had been bolted shut was open and the rocking chair was still moving, ever so slightly. Or am I just imagining this?

  He raced to the far wall and pulled down the wooden frame that was hanging there. He extracted the map, rolled it up, and put the empty frame back on the wall. As he turned to go, he saw the dim image of his own reflection in a mirror that was affixed to his closet door. He didn’t recognize himself. His shoulders were enlarged, as if he had suddenly put on several pounds of muscle. He touched his cheekbones and chin, trying to remember whether they had always been this prominent. Seconds later, he realized he was trembling violently. It seemed to confirm his worst fears.

  It’s happening. It’s happening to me—just like Great-Aunt Malony.

  “I have to get out of here,” Kana whispered aloud.

  “Yes,” said the voice.

  Kana spun around. Nothing. An instant later, he was pounding down the stairs and out the door. If he ran hard enough, the sound of his breathing would drown out all the other sounds, effectively muting the world around him and making him feel as if he were in a dream.

  He was halfway back to the mayor’s house when the outside world intruded. Something was about to happen. A rich and fetid smell rose from the woods, accompanied by rustling noises that quickly grew louder. Soon the entire woods seemed to be alive with movement. Branches snapped and the ground shook.

  Kana glanced around—the woods were on one side and a grassy field was on the other. Running into the field seemed colossally stupid. It was wide open with nowhere to hide. Going into the forest was unthinkable. Suddenly, he knew what he ha
d to do. Kana tucked the map into his pants. He darted to the nearest tree, right at the edge of the woods, grabbed a low-hanging limb, and pulled himself up. He moved quickly, shimmying upward, going as high as he could. Kana marveled at his own speed and strength. Never before had he been so agile.

  Moments later, a group of wild boars stampeded out of the woods and into the open grass of the field. They charged forward, pushing and gouging each other madly with their curling tusks. Several headed straight for the tree where Kana hid, then swerved around it at the last second.

  Kana was entranced. He had never seen a boar. Most people believed them to be extinct. After their charge, the boars milled around, confused and snapping at each other. One of them lay motionless in the grass, blood spilling from a gouge in its shoulder. Soon the herd disappeared into an area of thick bushes, and Kana breathed again. His body was rigid as he stared at the dead boar on the ground. Why had the boars done this? Only one explanation made sense: something had panicked them enough to drive them from the woods.

  CHAPTER 26

  Marin walked quickly but deliberately. Although she told herself she was in complete control, the candle betrayed her fear, because her arms refused to stop shaking. Beyond the small circle of light around her, it was too dark to see clearly, so Marin kept her eyes on the ground. Out of nowhere, her mind conjured the image of Line entering the water at the mayor’s house. She saw the curves of his shoulders and the way the candlelight both obscured and framed the tendons in his neck.

  Marin sped up. Food, she thought. I just need to focus on getting food right now. Carrots would be nice. She tried to visualize bright orange knobby carrots, and as she did, she felt calmer. Food. That was the main reason for leaving the relative safety of the mayor’s house.

  First, she would get the food. Then she would get the other thing—if she could find it. In truth, this is why she had insisted on getting the food by herself. I have to go back to the cliffs, she told herself. It will be there—it has to be.