by Jake Halpern
“I’m fine,” said Line flatly.
“You don’t sound fine,” said Marin. She glanced worriedly at Kana, who was beside her.
“How would you like me to sound?” asked Line without looking up. “The dead hermit has holes in his body. That dead dog in town probably had holes as well.”
Marin looked grim. Line was right—being confronted with this was horrific. But there was no time to think about it. Whoever, whatever had done this was likely nearby. She needed Line to see the urgency. Finally, several minutes later, Line finished washing his hands, dried them, and then stood quietly, staring into the fire.
“We should go,” said Marin.
“Yes,” said Line. “That’s a good—”
“Shh—what was that?” asked Kana.
This time they all heard it—a faint rattling—metal jiggling against metal. They glanced around the house quickly. It was the doorknob to the back door, twisting back and forth. Moments later, the front door started rattling, too.
“What do we do?” whispered Marin.
Line was one step ahead of her. And a thought had formed in his mind. A good thought. A useful one. The trapdoor. The garbage chute. Line put his finger to his lips, walked back to the kitchen, and gestured for the others to follow. He knelt next to the chute, pulled it open, and slid inside. Marin hesitated; now the rattling on the doors had become a pounding.
“Come on!” hissed Kana.
Marin dropped to the floor, dangled her legs through the trapdoor, and followed Line into the pit. Moments later, Kana came through, then lowered the door, plunging them into complete darkness. They tried to remain as still as possible, which was difficult because they were crouching in piles of rotting fish heads and prickly fish skeletons. There was also a steady flow of something beneath them—water, ooze, sludge, it was impossible to tell.
Overhead, they could hear the telltale sounds of wood splintering. Line began pawing through the trash. What we need is a way out. Everything else is a distraction. Ignore the things smashing down the doors overhead. That’s irrelevant. In fact, it isn’t happening. There’s only one good fact. Water on the ground is going somewhere.
“Help me!” whispered Line. “There’s water trickling here. It means there’s an opening.”
There was an explosion of noise above them. Two heavy thuds, one after another, like rifle shots. The front and back doors landed heavily on the floor. A mist of dirt and soot fell from the floorboards, and Kana had to stifle a coughing attack. Line was still digging, faster now, as if he’d found something. Moments later, they heard the sound of footsteps above them—heavy, plodding footsteps. Marin squeezed Line’s leg to stop him from digging. The footsteps passed directly above. They could hear the floorboards groaning under the weight. For a moment, the footsteps stopped. Marin, Kana, and Line all held their breath. Then the footsteps resumed again and began ascending the steps to the second floor of the house.
“The water goes into a tunnel,” whispered Line. “It’s narrow, but I think we can squeeze through. I’ll go first—follow quickly.”
Marin grabbed his sweater. “Wait—where does it lead?”
“I don’t know, but I can feel fresh air coming out.” Line slithered his way into the tunnel. The entrance was narrow, and the rock scraped him at the knees and along his back, but he got through. Kana went next. Finally it was Marin’s turn. As she crawled toward the opening, the sound of the footsteps overhead grew louder. Whoever it was had returned to the first floor. She crawled quickly, and in her haste she felt something slice into her leg. She cried out. Above, the reaction was immediate. Footsteps thundered and the entire house seemed to shake.
“Marin!” called Kana, poking his head back into the garbage pit from the tunnel. “Hurry!”
Marin moved toward Kana’s voice. Kana reached out, grabbed his sister’s hand, and pulled her toward him. There was a loud creak overhead, the trapdoor opened, and a shaft of murky light illuminated the garbage pit. Marin lunged into the tunnel entrance and pushed herself forward. After several feet, she emerged in a cave barely large enough to sit upright. There was a faint glow at the opening, though, and she could smell the brine of the sea and hear the distant chirping of bats.
She and Line crawled toward the opening, but Kana remained in place. Despite his impulse to flee, he wanted a glimpse of what was behind them. The thing, whatever it was, was thrashing around—trying to pass through the trapdoor and enter the garbage pit below. But it was too big to get in.
For a split second, Kana thought he saw a foot, although that wasn’t the right word at all, because it wasn’t really a foot. It was a gnarled, greenish claw with five hooked talons—and just a glimpse was enough to send him chasing after Marin and Line.
CHAPTER 31
“Go—go—go!” Kana yelled. He bolted out of the tunnel and crawled to Line and Marin, who were perched at the edge of the cave entrance and looking down.
“Is it behind you?” gasped Marin.
“I don’t think so,” he said, looking back into the darkened cave. “It’s probably too big to fit, but I can’t be sure.”
“Let’s not find out,” said Line. “Kana—can you see a way down the cliff wall?”
Kana inched his way to the edge and looked down a steep cliff that dropped nearly a hundred feet down to a rocky beach below. The rain had stopped and the sky was lighter than before. The moon peeked through the clouds. He glanced out toward the horizon. The sea had withdrawn a long ways and in its wake was a vast expanse of rocks, strewn with kelp and seaweed. It was a spectacular, otherworldly landscape. There were great rock formations, canyons, clusters of coral, and the carcasses of thousands of fish.
The most pressing matter was getting down the cliff. He examined the edge and saw a chicken head—a bulbous knob of rock sticking out of the cliff face. Lithe as a cat, Kana swung his legs over, grabbed the chicken head, and disappeared over the edge. He hung there for a few seconds as he looked for his next move. Despite the direness of their circumstances, he was pleased by how easily he could maneuver along the wall. He had never climbed as well as Marin, but now he felt supremely confident.
Just to his right, about five feet away, was a dark seam in the rock that ran straight down to the shoreline. It was a natural feature sometimes found in the cliffs, and for those with climbing experience, it made an ascent or descent doable—even easy. This particular seam gradually widened into a chimney—a crack wide enough to fit an entire body. Descending this particular chimney would be easy for Marin, even in the dark. Line would have a harder time because of his ankle, but the brace would help. On an island like theirs, with its perimeter of high cliffs, most people could free-climb all but the steepest of headwalls. The only complication now was that it had been raining and the rock face was wet.
“There’s a way down!” yelled Kana as he continued his descent. “Just over the precipice, there’s a nice chicken head—hang from it and then crab-walk to the seam on your right. Farther down, it’ll open into a chimney. Take it slow—the rock is wet and icy in a few places.” They heard Kana continue down the wall.
Line nodded at Marin to go next.
“No, you go ahead,” said Marin, pushing him gently toward the precipice. “You have to be careful of your ankle—and your arm.”
“Go on,” he said. “Please. If I’m in front, I’ll slow you down.” There was a solid resoluteness in his voice. “There’s nothing coming . . . If it was, it’d be here by now.”
Marin hesitated, then walked up to him and hugged him close. “Be careful,” she whispered. Then she walked to the edge of the cliff and slipped over with practiced ease.
Line glanced back at the empty mouth of the cave. He wanted to follow Marin immediately, but knew he had to wait. He was injured. He wasn’t entirely certain how well he could climb; if he fell or slipped, he didn’t want to be right on top of her. Line
counted out a full minute to give himself maneuvering room. By the time he’d counted to thirty, he was sorely tempted to fling himself over the edge. He kept glancing back, dreading what he might see or hear, but the cave behind him remained silent.
Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.
Just as Line began descending, Kana’s feet touched the rocky shore at the base of the cliff. Kana had gone incredibly fast, much faster than was prudent. His arms and fingers burned with exertion. He moved several feet away and watched Marin and Line pick their way down the cliff. Marin would be down in no time. Line was slower and the jerky way in which he moved made Kana anxious.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Come on, Line.”
Then suddenly, way above—at the top of the cliff—a flicker of a shadow caught Kana’s attention. Did I really see it? Is my mind playing tricks on me? No. There it was again. Something was moving across the cliff, toward Line, and quickly.
Kana screamed at the top of his voice, “LINE! LINE! ABOVE YOU!”
Startled, Line bobbled his grip on the cliff and hugged it even tighter. At first, he couldn’t understand why Kana was screaming. But then he caught a glimpse of it. Something was moving down the cliff. He was at the top of the seam, before it opened up into the chimney. He froze against the wall. He needed to find a better defensive position, but where? The chimney, of course. However, the seam that he was climbing angled downward and did not open into the chimney for another eight feet. The noise from overhead was getting louder. He didn’t have time to inch his way along.
Instincts kicked in. I have to move. Now. Line leapt, free-falling for a fraction of a second, and then—using all the strength in his good arm—he caught a rock outcropping. Seconds later, he’d pulled himself flush against the chimney.
His heart was pounding, all his senses were activated, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, he felt totally and utterly alive. Other thoughts and fears vanished. Francis, the mayor, the boats, the sunstone, the fishing depot—all of it was replaced by complete presence in the moment. The thing was coming fast.
It was almost there.
Line reached behind him to grab the vegetable sack tied to his back. He withdrew his long knife and felt its weight in his hand. His breathing slowed and he felt distant from himself, as if he were a mere observer. Wait for it, Line told himself. Patience is the key. Wait for it.
As it drew closer, Line went completely still. A clawed foot appeared on a rock a yard or so above his head. Line fought the urge to slash at it. Wait for it. Wait for it. Soon, he was rewarded by the appearance of two legs edging their way into the chimney. They were a foot or two away.
Now. Line hurled himself up and thrust the blade deep into the creature’s thigh.
The creature screamed and tried to pull away, but Line was quicker. Still gripping the handle of the knife, he yanked it downward so that the blade ripped through leg muscle and ligaments. Hot blood sprayed Line, but he held on and plunged the knife deeper into the creature’s leg.
Its scream turned high-pitched. The creature pulled itself up and away from the chimney. Line lost his grip on the knife and it fell away. He clung to the chimney, aware that his arms and legs were trembling uncontrollably. Easy, he told himself. Line forced himself to peel individual fingers away from the rock. They throbbed. He dimly heard Marin and Kana shouting. All of this happened in a feverish blur. Line descended as quickly as he dared, aware of a terrible thirst gathering in the bottom of his throat. Then, suddenly, he was off the cliff. Exhaustion enveloped him, and he crumpled to the ground.
Marin knelt at his feet, concern etched across her face. “Line?”
“Did I kill it?” he asked.
“Kill it?” said Marin. “I don’t know.”
“Then I probably didn’t,” said Line. “Or it would have fallen.”
Line glanced down at his hands, which were covered in blood. Again. He knelt over a nearby pool of stranded seawater and rubbed the blood off his hands, all too aware that he had done the same thing in the hermit’s house. The water was bracingly cold. Once his hands were clean, he splashed water on his face. For a moment, he began to replay what just happened in his mind, but then he shook his head and forced himself to stop. Not useful.
He looked up at the cliff, then at Kana. “Are there more?”
Before responding, Kana stood for a full minute, studying the cliff face. “I don’t see anything,” he said at last.
Line nodded in relief. “Did you see what happened to my knife?”
“No,” Kana replied, shaking his head. “I didn’t see it drop—I was looking at you.” He glanced at Marin. “Did you see it?”
Marin sighed. “No,” she said. “Here, take mine.”
Line examined the blade. “Keep it,” he said finally. “My arm hurts too much for me to use it well.” It was hard for him to admit this, but it was a fact. Only facts will help you escape—not hopes, fears, or wishes.
Kana turned away from the conversation; something on the exposed seabed drew his attention. He walked forward several paces across the slippery, seaweed-covered rocks, then stopped.
“What is it?” Marin called.
“A statue of a woman. And there’s another one just like it farther out.”
Marin looked at Line. “Palan’s statue. The hag.”
“Does it have writing on it?” she called out.
“Yes,” Kana called back. He had to shout louder to be heard. “It looks like more rules.”
CHAPTER 32
Kana, Line, and Marin walked across the old seabed until they arrived at the statue of the hag. The statue itself was nearly eight feet tall, and it stood atop a ten-foot pedestal. It was an old woman, with long hair and a hollowed-out face. Two similar statues stood a few hundred yards away in either direction. All three statues had their backs to the island.
Kana walked right up to the pedestal to examine the algaeen crusted writing on the hag’s long shield. He read it out loud:
THE HOUSES MUST BE WITHOUT STAIN.
LEAVE THEM AS THEY WERE.
COVER YOUR SCENT.
FLEE THE NIGHT OR WE WILL COME FOR YOU.
Kana looked back at Marin and Line. “Warnings,” he said. “Probably for anyone who comes to the island riding the Morning Tide.”
“Leave them as they were,” repeated Marin. “I guess that accounts for all the crazy rituals—closing this door, not closing that door, SNOUT here, TEETH there . . .”
“The last line is clear enough,” said Line. “And we’re breaking that rule right now.”
All three stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the stone hag and the words carved on her shield. Line thought about the last sentence: Flee the Night or we will come for you. His mind felt feverish. We will come for you. Was this a useful fact, or was it something he should ignore? He felt troubled, and the trembling in his stomach spread to his arms and fingers.
“We should go,” said Line. “It’s a long way to the mouth of the Coil, and I’m guessing those things will keep hunting us.”
They walked on, heading southeast along the coast, toward Shiprock Point. The only sound was the scraping of their boots against the mud and sand of the seabed. Kana led, and was so agile that he forgot to slow down for Marin and Line. At one point, Line slipped and then fell on a seaweed-covered rock. Marin grabbed his arm to help pull him up. Just then, Kana called out. His voice sounded distant. They couldn’t see him, but he reappeared only a minute later.
“You won’t believe this,” he began, but stopped when he saw the drawn faces in front of him. “What happened?”
“We’re fine,” said Marin. She dug her hands into her oilskin. It seemed to be getting colder by the hour. “What did you see?”
“The tide rolling back uncovered something incredible. Come—I’ll show you.” Kana looked excited in a childlike way. His react
ion made Marin even more curious.
Kana led them for another twenty minutes, until they arrived at a rock outcropping that offered a better view. In the distance—perhaps two or three miles away—two stone towers rose from the sea floor. Halfway up, the towers were connected by a bridge. At the base of the towers was a stone structure that looked like a sturdy fortress. The towers were slender and round, but their tops were the most intriguing feature of all. Instead of ending in a spike or turret, as castle towers often did in storybooks, each tower ended in a garden, complete with rocks, trees, and grass. Because the seabed descended quickly as it fell away from the island, at this distance, the tops of the towers were actually at eye level.
Line rubbed his face with his hands, partly to wipe away the strain of walking fast, partly because he couldn’t believe what he saw. He grabbed onto Kana’s shoulder. “I never would have guessed—never.”
Kana nodded in agreement.
“This is crazy,” said Line. “But I think . . .” He shook his head. “No—can’t be.”
“What?”
Line stared some more. He looked at the towers, then back to the island, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Are those the Dwarf Oak Islands? The tops of the towers, I mean. I think I recognize those trees. I’ve sailed around them before.”
“The Dwarf Oak Islands,” said Marin slowly, as recognition dawned on her. “That’s where the mayor said the citadel was supposed to be. In a way, he was right. The citadel is underneath the islands.”
Line looked at the towers with a frown. “You think our people built that?”
Marin studied the towers again, taking in their sheer size. “No way,” she said. “How could they? Those towers are huge—it must have taken years to build them. And they’d be underwater during Day. The creatures must have built them. It’s the only explanation.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t be going toward it,” said Line. “They don’t seem to like us in their buildings.”
