Nightfall

by Jake Halpern

  “But we have to go in that direction,” said Kana. He pointed to the forested shoreline beyond the towers. “It’s the only way to get around Shiprock Point and make it to the mouth of the Coil.”

  “I guess . . . ,” said Line, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  Suddenly, Kana spun around and looked behind them—back toward the cliffs.

  “What?” Line asked, turning around and seeing nothing but seabed.

  Kana paused and stood absolutely still. His posture reminded Marin of a feral cat hunting birds. When he finally relaxed, he shook his head. “Nothing—just keeping an eye out.”

  It didn’t matter what he said. The mere fact of him turning and looking back was enough to rekindle the panic they’d felt climbing down the cliff. Kana took off at a brisk pace, while Marin and Line struggled to keep up with him. An hour passed, and Line began to slow. He and Marin paused while Kana scouted ahead.

  “I wish Kana hadn’t run off,” Marin said, pushing the hair out of her eyes and gazing into the distance. “I don’t care what he’s doing. We should be sticking together.”

  “Funny—isn’t that what Kana said when you wanted to go to the vegetable stand on your own?” observed Line with a smile.

  Marin stood several inches deep in a swirl of rocks, mud, and seaweed. “I guess.” She lifted her head to look up at Line. “Do you think he’s all right? I haven’t seen him eat in . . . well . . . a long time.”

  Line stepped toward Marin and drew her close. Her cheek pressed against the softness between his collarbone and neck. “He’s fine,” Line said. “He’s in better shape than either of us. Did you see him when we were trying to hold that door shut, back at the mayor’s house? It started to swing open and he pushed it back. Practically by himself.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Marin. She didn’t sound convinced.

  They continued to pick their way across a treacherous assortment of slippery, seaweed-covered rocks. In the distance, thunder rumbled every few minutes. It was odd to walk here. It smelled and felt like the sea, but—other than a few pools of stagnant water where starfish lingered—there was no seawater to be found. An hour passed, then another, and Kana still did not return.

  At one point, Marin noticed that Line had started cradling his injured arm. He noticed her glance and rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. “Stop worrying.”

  “But what about your arm?”

  Line moved it gingerly. “Better, I think. Or, at the very least, not worse.”

  She looked at him, trying to decide whether to believe what he said. “Good,” she said at last. “Still, we should get more lekar when we catch up with Kana.” She looked around, half expecting to see Kana right next to them.

  “He’s just scouting ahead,” said Line. “He’ll circle back. This is what he does—just like when we hunted for mushrooms.” Then he chuckled darkly. “And if he’s gone—well, can you really blame him for leaving us?”

  “Not funny,” said Marin.

  “Sorry,” said Line. “I’m just saying, he’d be on the boats right now if you hadn’t tried to rescue me.”

  “You’re right,” said Marin dryly. “We should have left you.”

  They continued through puddles of vanished ocean. Soon they could smell brine. They were close to the retreating shoreline.

  “Sometimes I think you’ve been too good to me,” said Line. He sounded distant, contemplative. He was looking away, as if he were talking to himself.

  “Please don’t say that,” she said, grabbing his hand.

  “Why shouldn’t I say that?” asked Line.

  She quickened her pace, putting several feet between them. “Just don’t.”

  Line sped up, stepping quickly over the slippery rocks, trying to catch her. “All I had to do was get on the boat with my brother,” he continued. “That was it. And I messed it up. And if you hadn’t come back for me . . .”

  “Don’t,” said Marin, looking down at her feet. She didn’t dare make eye contact with him. “Maybe . . . maybe I’m not as good a person as you think.” As she said this, she slipped her hand into her coat pocket and clasped the necklace with her cold, numb fingers.

  Line raised his hands, palms toward the sky. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, it’s just that . . . ,” she started, and then stopped, as if simply grasping for the right words.

  Line took a step toward her. “I don’t understand.”

  “Lower your expectations,” she said finally. “That’s all.”

  CHAPTER 33

  As they neared the citadel, they saw Kana at last. He was on a mound of rock, sitting so still that, initially, Marin didn’t realize he was there. When he moved, Marin let out a little yelp.

  “Kana!” She hurried over to him. “There you are.”

  “I was just waiting for you,” he said. He jumped from his perch and looked back at the citadel. “I think I found a way in.”

  “In there?” asked Line, following his gaze.

  “Where else?” asked Kana. He motioned casually toward the citadel. “It shouldn’t be hard. Don’t you want to go?”

  For a moment, they all stood quietly, eyeing the citadel. There was an undeniable allure to the idea of having a roof over their heads. It was just a few hundred yards away. Water surrounded it like a moat, but in several places it looked quite shallow.

  The citadel itself was an imposing structure, rising from the water and up toward the sky. At the very top, they could see the trees that formed the towers’ roofs. Never in a million years would they have guessed that the Dwarf Oak Islands were, in fact, the peaks of two stone towers. The sides of the towers were covered with a thick coating of barnacles and sea kelp. In many places, large clusters of coral had actually begun to grow on the outer walls. They saw no windows, and it seemed possible—though highly unlikely—that parts of the interior had stayed dry during high tide.

  “Doesn’t makes sense,” said Line with a shake of his head. “Our plan was to find the fishing depot and leave. How does going inside help?”

  “We might find something we can use,” said Kana, glancing backward at the massive citadel. “Plus, I’d like to climb one of those towers and look out, get a sense of our route to the fishing depot.”

  Line narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

  “Just stay here,” said Kana quickly, gesturing for them to sit. “I’ll go in, look around, and come right back.”

  Marin’s teeth chattered. A roof was more appealing than the open air. As if on cue, ice-flecked rain returned suddenly, and in force.

  Marin raised the oilskin above her head for protection. “We can’t wait here,” she shouted to Line over the noise of the rain. She turned to Kana. “You know a way in?”

  Kana pointed to a shallow pool of water near the citadel. “Over there—I found some stones to walk across. We should stay mostly dry.”

  The rain turned to sleet, which stung their faces as it fell. Marin glanced at Line, who had pulled his sweater above his head just like Marin had with her jacket. He nodded: Let’s go.

  They followed Kana as he stepped carefully across a series of rocks poking out of the water. Up close, the citadel did not look like the kind of structure that could be scaled—the stone was slick and smooth. But scaling it wasn’t Kana’s plan. Instead, he crept around the base of the tower until he found a small lip of stone that protruded from the wall. Directly above this was a narrow opening. It looked like an arrow slit that had begun to crumble and expand during its years underwater.

  Kana jumped up and thrust his right arm into the opening, searching for a hold. The interior wall was less polished than the exterior, and he was able to grab onto a chunk of rock. He flung his left arm to join the right, hung there for a second, and then pulled himself inside. It wasn’t easy to squeeze through the crumbling opening, especially at sh
oulder level. Perhaps he had misjudged how big he was. It took another few seconds before he’d wriggled inside and fallen heavily onto the wet stone floor. His arms ached and he gasped for breath, but he was safe. The opening was narrow—even narrower than the tunnel in the garbage pit beneath the hermit’s house. This gave Kana a measure of confidence. Nothing large would be able to get in.

  Soon afterward, Marin emerged through the same crumbling arrow slit, followed by Line, who carried their meager sack of possessions. Line reached into the sack, took out a candle, and lit it. It cast a weak but wide light. The floor was strewn with bits of coral and smashed shells and the rocks glistened with a slimy film of seawater.

  “Maybe we’ll find something upstairs,” said Kana. He pointed up, but they couldn’t see anything in that direction.

  “What do you think the chances are that we’ll find a tin of biscuits and a barrel of cider?” asked Marin. Her voice echoed faintly.

  “I wish,” said Line. “Lots of dead fish are more likely.”

  “How do we get upstairs?” asked Marin.

  “This way,” said Kana. He led them to a narrow spiral staircase that wound up into the darkness. The stone stairs were in terrible disrepair. Some were solid, but others were loose from the years of being submerged. Near the top of the stairs, there was a flutter of movement as something swooped down, brushing Marin’s face and hair. Startled, Marin stumbled backward. Line caught her, but dropped the candle. It hit the floor and all went dark.

  “What happened?” asked Kana.

  “Just bats,” said Line. He sounded more disgusted than annoyed. “But we dropped the candle.”

  “We can pick it up later when we leave—just take my hand,” said Kana, extending his arm to Marin. “We’re almost there.”

  Moments later, they emerged onto more solid ground. Marin took out another candle and lit it. The staircase continued farther up into one of the towers, but they stopped and entered a large room with a vaulted ceiling, about the size of the mayor’s dining hall. The room looked as if it had once been used as a chapel. There were two fireplaces on either end, several rows of stone pews, a stage, and a pulpit. The rock walls were engraved with ornate carvings—swirls, curlicues, and divots—that bore a striking resemblance to the wooden scrollwork on the houses in town.

  The floor was strewn with debris—waterlogged wooden timbers, smashed pieces of pottery, shards of glass, and a stack of three iron gates that had rusted together. A pile of bones were scattered in one corner. Some looked human. Kana investigated the dark room while Marin and Line stood close together in the candlelight.

  Line bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to warm up. Although they had shelter from the rain, the citadel was an oppressively cold place. “Flee the Night or we will come for you,” said Line as he eyed the bones in the corner.

  “You think those were our people?” asked Marin.

  Line rubbed his cold hands together. “Probably.”

  “And what—they tried to hide here, thinking they’d be safe?”

  Line frowned, trying to imagine this. He took a step closer to the bones to get a better look. “Maybe,” he said. “I guess their plan didn’t work.”

  Kana emerged from the darkness, using a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of Marin’s candle. He held up a rusted plate and showed it to Marin. Her eyes widened in recognition. Just like the plates at home.

  That settles it, thought Marin. They use this place—or at least they have in the past.

  “Kana, there’s nothing here,” said Marin. “Line’s right—we need to leave for the fishing outpost.”

  Kana put the plate on a nearby stone pew. “Give me a few minutes,” he replied. “I just want to look around. I’ll run right back.”

  “All right,” she said, still staring at the rusted plate. “But be quick. I’m ready to go.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Kana climbed the spiral staircase. It narrowed substantially and became claustrophobic, the only respite being small windows that allowed moonlight to enter. Cold rivulets of water streamed down the wall like tears. He continued upward until the staircase ended in a roughly cut stone ceiling. An inset trapdoor that was rusted shut and covered in barnacles was the only exit. Next to the door was an iron lever. Kana pulled down, but it didn’t move. He placed his foot on the lever and used all of his body weight to press it down. There was a prolonged groan, and slowly, the metal doorway overhead lifted open. The stairway filled with the scent of the sea.

  As he emerged from the stairway, he saw that the exterior of the door had the appearance of a glacier-scrubbed rock. It was cleverly done. A visitor to the Dwarf Oak Islands sitting on the rock would never guess that there was a stairway below.

  Kana walked slowly around the island. There wasn’t much to it—grass, boulders, the remains of an old campfire, a rock ledge that used to be a pebble beach, and a few small oak trees with their scraggly limbs swaying in the breeze. Kana remembered camping here with his family when he was about six. He and Marin had caught fish and cooked them on sticks over the fire. Their parents laughed and joked, and a refreshing wind masked the sun’s heat. They certainly didn’t imagine that they were sitting on the very top of a citadel.

  The memory seemed to be from another life.

  Kana walked to the southwest side of the island and looked out toward the ocean. He scanned the horizon but saw nothing. The furrier boats were, in all likelihood, hundreds of miles away by now. He had assumed this to be the case, but seeing the empty water made it more real.

  Kana crossed over to the other side—the side facing north, where they once lived. He stared over the expanse of the old seabed they had crossed to reach the citadel. For several minutes, he watched for movement but saw none. Then he looked up at the cliffs. For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of motion, but it was too far away to be certain. The seabed itself was vacant and still.

  Finally, he walked to the southeast corner of the island. From here he could see Shiprock Point and the mouth of the Coil. This was the route they intended to take to the fishing depot. Immediately, he saw that the way would be difficult, if not impossible. The seabed here was uneven—plunging downward into steep canyons and rising into jagged peaks. It would be better to travel overland . . . but that meant returning to the island. How will I break the news to Line? Because I’m sure he’s going to love hearing this.

  Kana returned to the glacier-scrubbed rock that disguised the spiral staircase. However, instead of descending, he sat down. Kana stared at his boots. For a second, he imagined Line and Marin watching him, witnessing what he was about to do. He shuddered at the thought, and forced it from his mind.

  Slowly and methodically, he undid his laces. He paused for a moment, as if afraid to remove the boots. Part of him wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, but he’d been doing that for months now. All the clues had been there: his vision returning, the nightmares, the headaches, the nausea, even his newfound strength and endurance. He had been in denial. No more.

  Gritting his teeth, Kana pulled his pants up to his knees and yanked off the boots. His feet, if you could even call them that anymore, were a bloody mess. Five long, curling, pointy talons had replaced his toenails. He’d also grown a sixth talon, which protruded from the back of his ankle, just above the top of his boot. Wearing boots had constricted his feet, forcing his talons into his own flesh. The skin covering his feet had turned reptilian—dark green and covered with scales—except for those places where wounds oozed dark red blood.

  Kana stared blankly at his feet, trying to grasp the ugly reality of the situation. These talons had appeared and grown in a matter of hours. They hadn’t been there when he bathed in the mayor’s pool. As soon as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, his metamorphosis had accelerated sharply. Kana ran his hands along the calf of each leg. The muscles bulged. They seemed about twice as big as normal—and th
e skin here was tightening, shifting into moist scales.

  He wouldn’t be able to hide this from Marin and Line much longer. A tingling sensation was spreading across his face and ears. He touched this area gingerly with his fingers; it seemed no different. Still, it was probably only a matter of time before the rest of his body began to transform.

  Transform into what?

  Very carefully, he stepped to the edge of the island and stared at the rocks below. It was a long way down, several hundred feet, and if he fell he would certainly break his back on the rocks. Normally, he would be afraid even to stand this close to the edge, but now he felt no sense of vertigo. The fear was gone, replaced by something totally different, almost primal—an animal instinct. He stared down the sheer vertical wall of the citadel and knew that he could walk on it. Kana suppressed a momentary doubt, stepped off the edge, and used his talons to grip the outside wall. He took a tentative step down, bobbled, lost his footing, and began to slip. He steadied himself by grabbing the wall with his hands, then climbed back onto the island.

  Once he regained his composure, he tried again, but this time he went more slowly. He swung his legs over the precipice and tested the grip of his talons against the stone. Carefully, he began to climb down the sheer wall. He relied mainly on his feet—both to bear his weight and to maintain his grip—but he also used his fingers to keep himself flush. It was easier than he thought—and it was certainly easier than the climbing he had done before.

  Kana climbed back to the top of the citadel and stared at his island home. He caught a scent wafting up from the forest—and knew instantly that it was the fetid, musky smell of a warm-blooded animal. He craved this nourishment so powerfully that it frightened him. It felt like a force pushing up from his stomach and muscling into his throat. Kana wanted to feel disgusted with himself. He wanted to cringe in horror at what he was becoming because, as unnerving as that would be, it would still mean that all of these changes—the talons, the scales, and his new appetites—were part of some foreign bug that had somehow infected him. But that wasn’t how he felt at all. This thing that had taken hold of him was emerging from within—as if it had been there all along.