by Jake Halpern
Line took the sack off his shoulder and handed it to her. She opened it, took out the small, rectangular flint, and gave it to Kana.
“Here,” she said. “You don’t need light, but you may need fire.”
Kana nodded and took the flint.
“An hour,” said Line. “No more.”
“I know,” Kana replied.
CHAPTER 42
Kana took leaping strides down the path, each one longer than the next, until it seemed as if his feet were barely touching the ground. He’d left his boots back down the trail, having taken them off while Marin and Line struggled noisily up a tree.
As he ran, Kana marveled at how much his reflexes had developed in mere hours. He knew where to step without even looking, as if he’d been sprinting through these dark woods all his life. The newly amplified sounds that poured into his ears—the sway of the branches, the rustle of pine needles, the chirping of bats—all fleshed out his sense of the forest. And above the din of the waking forest, he heard the creature just ahead. It was racing, moving quickly, and Kana was in pursuit.
Whatever he was chasing was the same thing, or woman, who had spoken to Marin back at the citadel. He was fairly confident about this. In fact, he suspected that it had been following him for a long time. Perhaps for weeks—long before the furrier boats had arrived. It had been there, lurking in the shadows, in his room, even. It had been waiting for him. It had been in his dreams, which, of course, weren’t dreams or warnings that he was going mad. In fact, it had probably known what Kana really was long before Kana, himself, had.
At the moment, Kana was focused singularly on catching this thing. It wasn’t a plan, per se. This was pure, hard-driving instinct. And he didn’t fight it. He was giving in, and as he did, he could feel his former life as a weak, blind boy swirling away like water at the bottom of a drain.
Eventually, he came upon an opening in the forest. It looked as if a fire had killed a great stand of trees here and then quickly fizzled out. The remains of charred tree trunks were interspersed amid a sprawling field of waist-high grass. He could hear bats screeching from high in the surrounding forest. One thing above all was suddenly apparent to him: the creature had vanished. There was a chance that it had reacted to Kana’s running by circling back and heading for Marin and Line. That was a possibility, but it seemed remote. The thing wasn’t after Marin and Line. It was after him.
He took several deep breaths. The air seemed to alternate between warm and cold currents, reminding Kana of swimming in the ocean near shore. Even though he was deep in the woods, he knew he wasn’t far from the sea, either. The Coil might be closer than expected. It might be very close.
When the trail entered the great clearing, it forked immediately. The main trail went back into the woods, climbing up steeply. The other fork, which was much fainter and clearly a side trail, headed across the clearing and down a gentle slope toward what seemed to be another meadow. For a moment, Kana was tempted to take the side trail and see where it led, but then he recalled what the voice had told Marin. To find the boat, they had to stick to the main trail.
The thought of the boat tugged at his consciousness, pulling him back to his old self—Kana, the boy with a family and a twin sister, the boy who was trying to escape the island. He had to find the boat. He had to find it for Marin and Line. For them. Because he would not be leaving this island.
He breathed in deeply, feeling the truth of this thought curl into his lungs. It felt good—and pure. For a long time, he had refused to acknowledge it. During all these long months of the town’s preparation to leave, Kana had felt more torn than ever. To him, the forest was coming alive, and while everyone else complained about the growing dark, Kana felt more in his element than ever. He thought back to the moment on the Dwarf Oak Islands when he had finally surrendered to what he was becoming. This is who I am. This is where I belong.
Kana ran along the main trail, back into the woods, and up the steep slope. As he began to climb, the raucous squawk of far-off ravens broke the silence. Their shrill cries grew louder until it sounded as if they were right above him.
He arrived at the top of the hill and found himself at the edge of a bluff that dropped steeply into the forest below. There was water beyond those trees. He could smell it. He forced himself to picture Marin’s face. My sister is waiting for me, he told himself. How long ago did I leave them in the tree? He didn’t know. He’d lost track of time. I have to go back. He turned to go, but as he did, a loud crack came from the nearby trees. Startled, he looked up and heard a low-pitched growl. Kana reflexively stepped back several feet and fell into a mix of rocks and bushes, and in the next instant, he was tumbling down the bluff behind him. At first he tried to stop, but then he realized this was the fastest way to put distance between himself and whatever was up on that hill. He focused on controlling his slide and avoiding the trees that dotted the lower slope.
When he finally came to a rest, Kana was covered in mud. He looked back up the slope nervously—heart pounding. He saw no signs of movement. What had growled? Is it still there? Then he heard running water. It was close—very close. Kana jumped to his feet and soon came upon a fast-flowing but shallow stream. He splashed down the stream for several hundred yards, then knelt and drank his fill of the cold, refreshing water. He resumed walking, and eventually trees opened up and the stream merged with a wide, flowing river. It was the Coil—no question.
As he stood there, he remembered Marin in the gully, repeating the woman’s words: You will find the river—and a cave. Inside is a sea vessel. “I found the river,” he whispered, in a strange, hoarse voice that he hardly recognized as his own.
Just up ahead, another stream merged with the river. Here the water flowed over a series of flat rocks, which were streaked with red and black minerals, and gathered briefly in a deep pool. Kana walked over to the pool and surveyed the area. A clump of old, withered apple trees stood nearby. Bark peeled off the trees in ribbons.
A cold breeze flowed steadily through the trees. It smelled rich and musty, like handfuls of fertile soil thrown into the air. He saw a clump of tall zebra grass. Kana leaned in close. From this angle, he saw that the grass hid a wide, dark opening.
There it was—the cave.
CHAPTER 43
It took Marin and Line several minutes to climb the tree and settle into a comfortable perch. They were sitting above the canopy, which allowed them to see the moon and the stars. Silvery moonlight illuminated the landscape around them, which was an undulating terrain of treetops as far as the eye could see. Both Marin and Line had heard about the evil of the moon, and the madness that it caused, but it didn’t seem especially frightening from where they sat. It looked beautiful, like a serene deity gazing down upon them. And everywhere else, the stars shimmered and twinkled in silence. It would’ve been a welcome rest, but for the fact that the cold made sitting there so uncomfortable.
They stared at the sky for a while, until at last Marin spoke.
“I never thought you’d go looking for the sunstone,” she began.
Line looked at her blankly. He snorted and turned away. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“When I found it—”
“When you found it, you should have told me—right away,” interrupted Line. “None of this was necessary. And for what? Why? Because you were too proud to say, Sorry, actually, I do have my necklace after all. And now look where we are.” Line paused to let this sink in. He gestured toward the treetops with his good arm. “Marin . . . I don’t even know what to say.”
Marin shifted her position, trying to ease the aching in her legs. “You’re right—I should have said something,” she said finally.
“But you didn’t,” Line retorted. “You let me walk around for months thinking I had lost your family’s heirloom. Of course I wanted to make it up to you.” He paused and stared directly at her, his skin drawn
tight against his cheeks. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Marin nodded and focused on a branch in front of her. The branch glistened, perhaps from the moonlight, perhaps from ice. She couldn’t even look at Line.
“It seemed so stupid at the time,” she said in a low voice. “I didn’t know it would lead to . . . all this.”
“I tried to find it because I wanted you to have that sunstone in the Desert Lands,” said Line softly. “I wanted you to have it in the Cloister—when you were alone. I wanted you to think of me.”
Marin stared at his face. He was so earnest—so sad. Suddenly she felt tears pricking her eyes.
“I should have known better—necklace or no necklace,” said Line, his voice softening. He looked away at the distant clouds. He shook his head.
A minute passed, then two. Slowly, Marin reached out and rested her hand on Line’s shoulder. She expected him to shrug it off or push her away, but he didn’t.
Eventually, they settled back into the tree and tried to rest. Whether it was warranted or not, it did feel safer up there—in no small part because the moon allowed them to actually see. Marin leaned back against the cold trunk.
Once, her eyes drooped and she caught herself just as she was beginning to slide off the tree. Momentarily panicked, Marin stood up on the branch. From this angle, she could see Line shivering. She reached over and touched his forehead. “Your fever,” she said quietly. “It’s coming back.”
Line was curled up in a notch where two big branches joined. He brushed her hand away. “I’m fine.”
“Line . . . ,” began Marin. “You’re sick—we should get down.”
“No.” Line shook his head. “I just need to close my eyes.”
Marin looped a rope around the main trunk of the tree, and then around herself and Line. She drew the rope so that it was snug, but not too tight, then closed her eyes.
Sometime later, she bolted awake to the sound of Line cursing. He was sitting up, legs dangling over the branch, and peering downward.
“What happened?” she asked, trying to make out what he was looking at.
“The knife. Damn. It fell.”
“What? That’s our only knife.”
“I know,” snapped Line. He kicked his legs angrily. “It must have slipped out of my pocket.”
“Maybe it’s still on the branch. Look around.”
“No—I heard it fall.”
Marin was silent. Their only weapon was gone, and Kana still hadn’t come back.
All around them the treetops trembled in the breeze. Wisps of fog and mist passed over them.
“I’ve got to go,” said Line finally.
“Where?”
“To get the knife,” he replied.
“What?” said Marin. She stared at him, incredulous. “That’s crazy. You’re sick. And what if you get lost?”
Line gripped the main trunk of the tree with his good hand. The sharpness of the bark helped clear his mind. “How could I possibly get lost?” he replied. “It’s got to be sitting at the base of the tree.”
“You have a fever and a bad arm!” said Marin.
“I know,” said Line. “That’s the point. I may need that knife . . .” He shifted his weight on the branch.
“Line—wait!”
But he had already swung off the branch and was heading down the tree, ignoring her frantic whispers. Marin peered down into the darkness below, wondering if she should follow.
She decided against it. They would only get in each other’s way.
CHAPTER 44
The cave opening was narrow and low, and Kana had to stoop to enter. As he ventured in deeper, however, the walls flared out and the cave became large enough to stand comfortably. Kana couldn’t see the end, which tapered off into absolute darkness. The ground was dry and pebbly, but a nearby wall looked slick. He touched it, and his fingertips came away wet. In the distance he heard a steady trickle of water.
He pressed forward carefully. The air felt close and thick, but it didn’t bother him—being in this enclosed space calmed him down, made him feel more composed, more self-assured. He reached out to touch a nearby wall outcropping. To his surprise, it moved. He crouched down to examine it closer. It wasn’t a rock wall—it was canvas, expertly painted and camouflaged to look like part of the cave. He grabbed at it until he found the edge, and flung the whole thing away. Underneath sat a long concave shape made of wood. The boat. The hull was made of smooth planks, and an elegant keel ran across the top like a dorsal fin.
Kana took a deep breath. At last.
The boat was at least thirty feet long, likely much larger and sturdier than the canoe at the fishing outpost. The canvas was probably the sail, and underneath the hull he found some nautical equipment—including rigging, an anchor, and paddles. He wasn’t an expert sailor himself, but Marin and Line would know how everything worked. It was, in fact, a sea vessel. It could handle open water. Line and Marin would have a chance, especially with the sunstone.
For a moment, Kana pictured them sailing off without him. He let the image settle in his mind. Then he imagined himself walking back into the woods, alone, surrounded by Night. It was sad to think of leaving Marin and his parents, but it seemed a divinely foretold plan. This is when our lives diverge.
Kana ran his palm across the smooth wooden hull. It felt warm, almost alive. He walked deeper into the cave and felt the ground turning cold and wet under his feet. A deep channel of icy water flowed along the cave floor. He stuck his hand into the water—it did not touch bottom—and brought it to his lips. The water tasted like rock and minerals, as if it came from the very bowels of the earth. Kana followed it for several feet until it plunged back under the rock. At some point, it probably joined up with the river. With a fresh water supply, someone could hole up in this cave for a long time.
He backtracked toward the entrance and found a collection of charred embers and bits of wood, the remains of a long-dead fire. From the looks of it, the cave had been unoccupied for many years. And then Kana came upon something wholly unexpected: a series of drawings that completely covered sections of the wall.
He moved to study them more closely. The drawings were incredibly lifelike. Closest to the entrance were tracings of boats racing across the ocean, full sailed, bows raised high in the waves. Kana could feel the movement just by looking at them. There was no doubt about what kind of ships they were—their yellowish, saffron-colored sails gave them away. They were furrier boats in formation, perhaps on the attack, perhaps fleeing. Fish seemed to jump out of the wall in desperate attempts to escape them.
Farther into the cave, the drawings focused on the nearby forest. Whoever drew these had done an exact rendering of the apple trees guarding the cave’s mouth.
His eyes drifted across the apple trees and to a picture of two people standing close together, holding hands, their faces hidden in profile. They were gazing down at something that didn’t appear in the painting. Kana wanted to keep looking around, but he knew that Marin and Line were waiting. Reluctantly, he forced himself to turn away and leave.
Kana retraced his steps. Outside the cave, several feet from the pool, was a long, rectangular mound of earth that he hadn’t seen at first. A young cherry tree stood next to it, its limbs bare of leaves or fruit. The smaller branches were all encased in ice. Soon, the forest would be unrecognizable to Day-dwellers.
He had to hurry. Time was running out.
CHAPTER 45
Ever so carefully, Line climbed down the tree, limb by limb. It was tricky to do with one hand, but it was easier than the way up. Line knew his fever was back—the heat behind his eyes, the ache up his nose into his forehead, and the dull gnaw on his brain. It wasn’t too bad, though. Not yet. But it was back and that was bad news. If Kana didn’t find lekar, he would need to . . .
No.
Th
at is not a helpful thought. Or is it?
There came a time when the need for truth trumped the value of denial. Because it might come to that. And if he had to cut off his arm—there, I said it—then he would need a way to stop the bleeding. He would need to cauterize the wound. He would need to do this with fire. He would need to apply the fire to his arm. Searing hot flames. And if—when—he blacked out, it would be Marin or Kana’s turn to pick up the knife and finish the job.
Line shook his head. That was enough truth for the moment.
It hadn’t yet come to that. And it might not. Maybe Kana would find the Coil. And since woodfern often grew near water, maybe he’d even find some lekar. Line wiped his sweaty brow. Enough hoping. Too much hope could make it harder to accept reality when the time came.
He needed to find that knife. That was useful. And so he descended the tree, branch by branch, until he reached the forest floor. Then he stopped and listened.
Nothing.
Not even a faraway chirp. The forest was still, though he sensed there was something more. Moonlight slanted down to the forest floor, creating crisscrossing shafts of light. Line knelt down and patted the ground around him. He just needed to find the knife, grab it, and get back up the tree. Simple. He rummaged through crinkly leaves, pine needles, dirt, and moss, but it wasn’t there. It was cold enough for the ground to be covered with a very thin layer of frost. Even so, he felt hot and half expected to see steam rising off of his body.
He widened his search. He crawled forward two paces, and then two paces to his left and right, and repeated this on the other side of the tree.
Line searched for several minutes—pausing occasionally to listen—but came up empty. The wind began to blow, making leaves flutter and branches sway overhead, and allowing moonlight to pierce the canopy. Something gleamed on the forest floor. It was close, no more than twenty feet away, but far enough for him to get lost trying to find it. Line hesitated, then began crawling toward what he had seen.
