Nightfall

by Jake Halpern

  Then blackness.

  Sometime later, she revived to the sound of her own gasps. Then she began to hear other noises—a strong wind, the creak of long-dead trees . . . and something else. It was a voice. Line’s voice.

  “Get up. MARIN. Get up.”

  She lifted her head. Dirt and pine needles clung to her lips. She wiped them away and rose unsteadily to her knees. Line helped her to stand.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I think you fainted,” whispered Line.

  “Where are—”

  “Shhhh.” Line stood up tall, straining to listen . . . or to see. They were standing in a copse of smaller trees, which allowed some moonlight to filter down to them. Shadows—of leaves and branches—danced across their frightened faces. Just then, Line sensed a presence nearby. He whirled around and glimpsed movement—something powerful and slow-moving. He shoved Marin behind him.

  The beast advanced. It seemed cautious, yet interested. Two dull yellow eyes blinked open. It stood as tall as a man, but had four legs, was as long as a horse, and had a wide, squat body. Instead of fur, its body was lined with interlocked black scales. Two tusks bordered a long, fleshy snout. At the tip of each tusk sat a cluster of foot-long spikes that looked like bouquets of daggers.

  “The rat,” Line whispered. He recognized the creature from the mounted heads he’d unpacked. But the creature on his wall was far smaller than the one before them. It also lacked the spikes that this one had on each tusk.

  The creature moved toward them, sniffing the air and bobbing its head back and forth in a wide arc. Moonlight caught the tusks and spikes, making them shine. Its small eyes remained fixed on Line and Marin. How good is its sight? It was hard to tell.

  “Is there a tree we can climb?” Line whispered.

  Marin looked around. The trees were too small to hold them, and likely they’d be too short to provide any protection against the creature.

  “Not nearby.”

  Line nodded as they slowly backed up. “Then we’ll have to run.”

  “We did that already, and it followed us.”

  Marin wondered whether perhaps, finally, their luck had run out. They would have to face this thing. It was the only option.

  “Do you have the knife?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  Line carefully extricated the knife from the sack. He’d wrapped it in vines and leaves to avoid getting cut.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “You’ll see,” she whispered. “Give it to me. The sack, too.”

  Line handed them over. Marin exhaled sharply.

  “Line—I need you to run. It doesn’t matter where. Now.”

  Marin backed away quickly from Line and crouched to the ground. She had an idea. It was a trick that she and Kana had once used to catch a particularly ornery rooster with a burlap sack. It was the only thing she could think of.

  Marin backed away, her movement catching the attention of the creature, but when Line began running, the creature forgot about Marin and followed Line through the woods. The giant rat moved awkwardly, and its flexible snout undulated as it used its tusks to destroy branches and smaller trees that had the temerity to be in its path.

  Now it was Marin’s turn.

  She started after the rat. Timing was important, but being able to see was even more so. It had to be done quickly, while there was still moonlight. She followed them as quietly as possible. It wasn’t difficult. The creature and Line made enough noise to drown out everything else.

  She sped up until she was an arm’s length away from the creature. At this point, her plan was pure improvisation. The creature was no rooster. It could not be stuffed into a burlap sack. It had a long, whiplike tail that trailed behind it, but thankfully it was only muscle and skin. Marin leapt onto its back and gripped the scales as the creature lunged from side to side, trying to rid itself of the sudden weight on its back. Marin was flung forward but hung on, the weight of her body centered on the creature’s head. She could feel her back being lashed by the tail, and the snout arched up as her left hand released the scales and plunged the knife into the creature’s eye, forcing it deep into the skull.

  It hissed and yowled and bucked into the air. Marin lost her grip and landed heavily nearby. The creature’s tusks whipped blindly from side to side. One of the tusks scraped across her back. Marin grimaced but was determined not to scream. She rose to her hands and knees and crawled away along the forest floor. The creature flopped onto its back and turned over again. It was writhing now, cutting nearby trees into shreds with its tusks. A mix of blood and foul-smelling yellow mist sprayed from its injured eye. Finally, the giant rat slumped to the ground and lay motionless.

  After waiting a full minute, Line crawled over to the rat, pulled the knife from its eye, wiped the blade on the ground, and wedged it into his belt. He ran to Marin and helped her up.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Marin nodded wearily. She looked at her arms, which were covered in the creature’s blood. With a stifled cry, she wiped them against her jacket and pants, hunched over, and threw up.

  Line put a hand on her back and waited. Several minutes later, she wiped her mouth, looked at Line, and nodded.

  “Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s retrace our steps—we need to find the trail.”

  They set off quickly and came upon what appeared to be a trail. But after a few minutes, it faded away. They tried to return to where they killed the rat, but in the thick forest, there was no landmark to hold on to, nothing to point at with certainty and say yes, we passed this place.

  Thin shavings of ice started falling from the sky. Unlike the sleet, these specks were so small that they seemed to float. Marin and Line had both seen hail during bad storms in the Afternoon years, but never this.

  “I think it’s snow,” said Line, brushing the flakes off his brows and cheekbones.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Strange that it’s so . . . peaceful.” She shivered—and was reminded that they had to keep moving. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  Line looked around in a vain attempt to get his bearings. Darkness lay everywhere, a thick blanket that encircled them. They could still see a little—there was ambient light from the moon, light refracted from sky to cloud to forest—but details were wiped away. The forest closed in, blurring away distinctions, individual trees, trails.

  “We need to get back to the meadow,” said Marin. “To find Kana.” She said these last words looking at the ground. Does this even make sense? Of course they needed Kana to show them where the boat was. And she clung to the hope that perhaps, somehow, Kana was fine—that it was all a mistake, a nightmarish hallucination. But that was wishful thinking.

  She was suddenly aware of the sound of Line’s breathing. She could feel his presence, and it was reassuring. At least she wasn’t alone. Again her mind returned to Kana, who was alone, left behind, somewhere on the island. It didn’t matter what made sense or what didn’t make sense. There was only one right course of action. To find her brother. To find Kana.

  Line stared into the labyrinth of trees. He touched Marin’s face. It was cold, as cold as his. “I’m sorry, Marin,” he said. “I don’t know where we are. I think we’re lost.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Kana woke in stages. At first, he was aware only of movement, a deliberate, rhythmic swaying of his body. His head pulsed with pain, a deep fatigue had settled in his limbs, and it was only with great effort that he was able to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. He was staring downward and the ground was moving.

  In his state, it took him a while to realize that he was being carried over someone’s shoulder. Kana opened his mouth and tried to yell. A tiny sputter came out instead. Immediately, something cold and leathery covered his mouth. The musty, humid smell of it. The same as in his dream. K
ana struggled, but it did no good. The object covering his mouth was clenched like a vise, and slowly, Kana realized that it was a hand. Not a human hand, but a hand nonetheless. Then a voice spoke to him. It was harsh and guttural, though undeniably feminine. He recognized it almost at once.

  “If you make noise—you will draw them to us,” purred the voice.

  Kana tried to reply, but his mouth was still gagged.

  “I will set you down,” said the voice, “but you mustn’t make a sound.”

  The hand released his mouth. His body slid downward, and a moment later, he was resting with his back against the trunk of an enormous tree. He blinked, trying to take in the scene. He was in a part of the forest where the ground was carpeted in moss and the trees were spaced well apart. All around him, great shafts of timber rose up like the columns of a long-forgotten temple. Wisps of fog hung in the air, curled together, and drifted past.

  At first, he did not see who had been carrying him. He felt certain that it was the woman from his dream, but he had not managed to get a look at her. As soon as she set him down, she seemed to vanish. But then a silhouette emerged from the fog-shrouded gloom. It moved quickly, fluidly. The figure had a delicate face, pointy ears, large feline eyes, and long, flowing red hair. She was dressed in plain, unornamented animal skins, but around her long neck she wore several tight copper necklaces. Her arms were muscular but elegant; her hands and fingers seemed longer than a normal person’s. She was tall, at least six feet, and her legs were toned and lean. Her brown skin shimmered as if sprinkled with tiny shards of glass. The color seemed to change as they walked—getting lighter with the moon, darker without. Her feet—like his—were clawed and covered in scales. She was equal parts beautiful and frightening.

  Kana was so startled when she first emerged from the fog that he lurched backward and smacked his head against the tree, triggering a fresh burst of pain. He put his hand to his head and felt the mix of sticky and fresh blood. He remembered it clearly now. Most of all, he remembered his sudden murderous rage. Would he really have killed Line if Marin hadn’t intervened? He had never been that angry before. And yet, in the moment, it all felt so easy and right: the anger, the aggression, the violence.

  “Your friends have left you,” said the creature, as if she could read his thoughts. “Your chances are better without them.”

  “It’s you,” said Kana. These were his first words and they came out sounding strained. But he didn’t need to elaborate. “You’re the one. Before you spoke to Marin, you spoke to me.” His voice cracked with fear. “You warned me to stay away from the woods.”

  “I did—and you didn’t listen,” said the creature flatly. She drew close to him in a blur of movement that left him no time to react. She was crouching now, just feet away. Her long, sinewy muscles twitched, as if tensing, but her large eyes—which were streaked with iridescent rays of amber—were as still and lifeless as two glass paperweights.

  “Your friends won’t last long,” she said. “They smell powerfully of fear—it will bring out the hunters, especially the ones that like to play with their prey. That little rat chasing them is the least of their problems.”

  It took Kana a few seconds to understand what she was saying. But when he did, his eyes widened and he struggled to sit up. “I need to find them,” he said. “I need to help . . .” But he didn’t finish this thought because, all at once, he sensed the futility of it. Help them how? Marin just hit me over the head—hit me because I had my hands around Line’s throat. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help them. It was the realization that they were now probably running from him as much as anything else. And for good reason.

  It was the sound of the knife that broke him away from his thoughts. Kana heard it being unsheathed and, an instant later, saw the long, curved blade. She tilted the knife toward him casually. He tried to retreat, but she had backed him into the trunk of a tree. “I took you to the cave,” said the creature quietly, with her calm, glassy, unblinking eyes. “I tried.” Then she thrust the blade toward him, pressing its tip against his throat.

  “Don’t,” gasped Kana. He struggled to keep his neck still to avoid being cut. All the while, he tried to think. Why is she doing this? Why now? Why wait until this moment? He had to stall her. “Y-y-you were carrying me somewhere,” he stammered. “You’re still trying—to help me.”

  “Not so, child,” said the creature. “I was looking for a place to bury you.” As she said this, she pressed the blade more firmly against his throat, drawing a pinprick of blood. “It will be a mercy. I should have done this long ago.”

  “Wait,” said Kana desperately. “I’ll go with you to the cave.”

  The creature remained still, showing no indication that she had even heard him. Kana felt his hopes sink. Her eyes were so lifeless. “Please,” said Kana. Tears welled in his eyes. His legs began to shake and he fought to keep still. “You don’t want to do this. Or you would have done it in my bedroom—weeks ago.”

  The creature hesitated.

  “That is true. I am weak.” Her long fingers twitched fast as insect wings, and suddenly the blade was back in the sheath that was buckled to her belt. “But know that I will kill you before I let the hunters see you.”

  Kana wiped the fresh blood from his throat. The creature bent down, tore a swath of moss from the earth, and rubbed it roughly against Kana’s throat.

  “To hide the scent,” she said.

  Kana let out a deep breath and began to think. He could not be surprised again—he wouldn’t survive it. “How far are we from the cave?” he asked. He thought of the cave drawings, of the woman and man standing there. Does she look like the woman on the wall?

  “It is very close.” For a moment, she flicked her head to the right, moving it so quickly that it looked more like a muscle spasm than a gesture.

  “What about my sister?” asked Kana.

  “You have no sister,” the creature replied. “But, of course, you know that already.”

  Kana began to say something, but she cut him off with a hiss.

  “Whisper or keep your mouth shut!”

  Kana gritted his teeth and let out a deep breath. “But how can I just leave them?”

  “You must,” she retorted. “And if you don’t, you will die by their sides. You still have the scent of Day.”

  Kana slowly struggled to his feet. The creature took a step backward, giving him some space.

  “How many of you are here?” whispered Kana.

  “Thousands,” replied the creature with the slightest of tremors in her voice.

  “And they all live in our town?”

  “There isn’t enough room,” replied the creature. “Our numbers have grown. Now only the hunters are allowed to live in the town. And it is ours now—not yours—or is this still confusing to you?”

  “I understand,” said Kana. He moved his hands to his face and massaged his temples with his fingers, as if to goad his brain to process everything that she had said. All around them now, snow was falling, covering the ground with a thin layer of white. Kana did not notice the cold, even though his feet were bare.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said the creature. “You should’ve left on the boats with the other Day-dwellers. That has always been the understanding.”

  “The understanding?”

  “Yes, at sundown you leave the island. Everything must be left as you found it. This time, your people left later than usual. Even when we carved the markings on your door—our door—you stayed. You and that old man.”

  “You killed him,” said Kana.

  “Not me.” Her eyes showed nothing, not a trace of thought or feeling.

  “But one of the hunters?”

  “Yes—and they will gladly do the same to your friends.”

  “And me?”

  “To you,” said the creature, “they will do mu
ch worse.”

  “Why? I’m one of y-you,” he stammered, pleading at her with his eyes.

  “You will never be one of us,” replied the creature. She drew closer and narrowed her eyes. “Look at me and then look at yourself. Are we the same?”

  What she said was true. Some of Kana’s features were similar to hers—the fingers, the feet, the eyes—but overall, he looked more like Marin and Line. Kana felt hollow in his chest.

  “But I’m still changing . . . ,” began Kana.

  “And so am I,” she replied. “It happens with the rising of the moon. You may change a little more, but we’ll never look the same. You cannot survive the Night.”

  Kana looked away. A deep feeling of loneliness came over him—heaviness, like a weight pulling him down to the bottom of a dark well. I belong nowhere. And I never will.

  “So if I’m not one of you . . . and I’m not one of them . . . what am I?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, and her voice seemed to falter.

  Kana was about to ask what she meant, but the creature sharply jerked her head to the right and growled—a deep, full-throated growl—like an animal that sensed an imminent threat. It took a moment for Kana to see what she was growling at because, at first, he saw only wisps of swirling fog. But then he saw two suspicious eyes and the contours of a tall, muscular body.

  It was another creature. It eyed Kana, grunted with surprise, and leapt instantly onto the trunk of a nearby tree. Its talons gripped the bark and it circled up the side as if the trunk were a spiral staircase. Then it vanished. Seconds later, the amber-eyed creature leapt onto the same tree.

  She turned back to Kana.

  “Follow me up the tree!” she barked. “I’ll hunt him back to you.” Then she grabbed her knife, pulled it from its sheath, and flung it toward Kana. Without thinking, he caught it by the handle as it whizzed past.