by Jake Halpern
“It’s all right,” said Flower in a calm, reassuring tone. She squatted down so she was eye level with the man. “We’re friends.”
The old man stared at her in abject horror. He began shrieking at the top of his lungs.
“What should we do to help him?” asked Wren, struggling to make herself heard over the shouts of the old man. He sounded as if he were in mortal pain.
Flower shook her head. “Nothing. He’ll stop in a while, but we gotta leave. Quick! Before anyone finds us.” They followed as she dashed down the alley. Soon, they emerged onto a wide street that ran parallel to the water-filled moat and the great wall.
Right away, they could hear the sound of jingling bells.
They were so loud that they could no longer hear the distant shouts of the old man. There were several dozen people about fifty feet away, all with bells hung around their necks. They shuffled forward slowly, mindlessly, just like the old man had. A grayling with a pointy wooden stick led them, pulling on a piece of twine connected to a web of strings that bound the pack together. He nodded in a bored way at Flower, Wren, and Alec as they approached.
A half-dozen other graylings, all carrying sticks, surrounded the pack. At one point, an old woman started to stray to the side, yanking on her twine. A grayling prodded her until she fell back into line.
Flower drew close to Alec and Wren. “Keep your heads tucked down, chins to your chests, and breathe through your noses. It’ll be over if you wake another one.”
The jingling grew louder as the pack approached. Flower steered a wide path around the mob. Alec and Wren didn’t dare look up. A few of the dead were actually chanting, almost shouting, the words of the mantra—their cries barely audible over the chorus of bells.
Wren expected the graylings to say something—Where you headed? Nice day to walk the dead, isn’t it?—but no one said a word.
Moments later, Alec, Flower, and Wren crossed a nearby bridge that spanned the moat. It led to a winding stone staircase that rose several hundred feet to the top of the wall that divided the island. Together, they began climbing upward. Up close, the wall was stunning, mainly for its bulk. It looked absolutely impregnable; there were no cracks at all in the gray stone facade.
At the very top, the wall curved out into a bulge, forming a giant teardrop. Alec remembered seeing this as they approached the island. Green vines dangled down from its top; it looked like there might be a roof garden up there. So this was the Meadow. They were close.
Wren glanced about uneasily. “Why do we have to cross here?” she asked. “Why not swim around the island—or take a canoe?”
“They patrol the water,” muttered Flower. “Trust me. This is the best way. We’ll slip right under their noses.”
Flower’s steps were now slow and labored, as if she were very tired. Alec and Wren mimicked her. Up ahead, the staircase became congested with graylings and a number of people in burlap robes, with shovels and pickaxes slung over their shoulders. These had to be the diggers and laborers that Lamack had mentioned.
No one spoke.
The only sound was an endless shuffle of footsteps.
When they finally reached the top of the wall, they saw a stone gate whose entranceway was draped in fluttering silver banners. Here, the air was as fragrant as a spring afternoon. And there was a breeze. A real breeze. From somewhere inside the gate, they heard squawking noises.
“Hold your breath when we pass through the gate,” whispered Flower. “Or the gatekeepers may smell you. Do not breathe. Even a little. I lost a breather in here once.”
The line of people shambled through the gate and into a tunnel. Alec, Wren, and Flower inched forward. Each person bowed at the entrance, then ducked through the fluttering banners. Inside, the light was dim, but Wren managed to catch a glimpse of the gatekeepers. They were tall, burly men. And their eyes were sewn shut.
The Blind.
No wonder Flower had warned them to hold their breath. It brought to mind the old saying—the Blind could smell pickles on your breath across a crowded room.
It was deafeningly loud in the tunnel. The members of the Blind were calling to another—chirping, squawking, and cawing—just as they did in the above world. To Alec and Wren, it sounded as if they were making their way through a crowded aviary filled with alarmed birds. Wren bit her lip and suppressed a shudder. She could feel pressure building in her lungs, and her throat itched. A cough was building. Not now, she told herself. Please—not now.
One of the Blind, a tall, bald man with a neck as thick as a sturdy tree trunk, seemed to sense her discomfort. He turned toward her and cawed loudly: tssk, tsssk, screeee.
Wren kept walking.
Tssk, tsssk, screeee.
The noise bounced off the narrow walls of the tunnel, growing louder with every echo. Wren focused on the back of Flower’s head as she stepped forward. The burning in her chest grew. Soon, the tunnel ended. They passed through more fluttering banners and emerged into a great, open space.
Wren gasped, sucking in a few rapid breaths.
Then she noticed the ground beneath her—it was bright green—the kind of color that comes only in the spring. It was soft, spongy, and most of all, alive. She began to sink to the ground, still dizzy from holding her breath for so long. Flower seemed to anticipate this. She grabbed Wren by the arm and pulled her up.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Just a few more minutes. You can do it.” She looked up at Alec, who seemed to be wavering as well. “It’s nearly over,” she added. “Now we just have to get past Shade.”
Get past Shade?
Alec and Wren looked around nervously, half expecting to see the Shadow leader standing right next to them.
But he wasn’t there.
In fact, the scene before them was remarkably … peaceful.
A slight wind caressed their faces. In front of them lay the Meadow: a beautifully manicured lawn, worthy of a nobleman’s estate. At its center was a small cluster of leafy trees. After the gray sky, gray water, and gray buildings, it was remarkable.
From this perspective, they could see the Meadow narrow at either end and form back into the wall. The wall then continued in either direction, twisting and turning its way across the island.
“Follow me,” whispered Flower.
She led them toward a queue lined up along the Meadow’s perimeter.
Shade stood in front, facing the line, resplendent in a robe made of moss; it was as though he’d cut it from the Meadow and flung it across his shoulders.
Wren tugged lightly on Flower’s cloak. “What do we do?”
“Eyes straight ahead,” whispered Flower.
Shade stood in front of a two-tiered stone fountain that reminded Alec of a wedding cake he’d seen when he was very young. The upper tier was a chalice overflowing with water, which dripped steadily into a larger basin directly below. The fountain stood on a carved stone block.
Shade held a dipper in his hand, the sort used to ladle soup from a pot. The line moved quickly and, before long, it was Flower’s turn to stand before Shade. The hood on her gray robe covered her head, and she stared at the ground. Flower seemed to be doing everything she could so Shade would not see her face.
She reached out her hands, cupping them together.
“Thank you, Father, for these Drops of Life,” she murmured in the voice of a frightened child.
Shade looked ahead, staring at the others in line, barely noticing Flower. In a practiced motion, he tipped the dipper slightly so that a few drops of water fell into Flower’s hands. Flower took her dampened hands and rubbed them across her forehead. For a moment, her whole body trembled. Then she turned away and began walking toward the trees in the middle of the Meadow.
Wren was next.
She looked up for an instant and, to her astonishment, saw someone she recognized.
Oscar—her old friend from the descenders.
His brother, Joseph, had been desperate to find him, and here he was,
at Shade’s elbow, staring back at her. The two brothers had the same square jaw and deep, sunken eyes, but Oscar was bigger, with powerful shoulders and a thick neck. And his eyes had a steely glint to them. Mira had been right to fear him. He was a warrior.
Oscar’s eyes widened in recognition.
Shade was momentarily distracted, refilling his dipper from the basin.
Wren brought a finger to her lips.
Oscar looked away.
A moment later, Shade spun back around and, in a quick businesslike fashion, sprinkled several drops into Wren’s outstretched hands. For a moment, Shade looked directly into Wren’s eyes, with a deep, penetrating glare. Then he gestured impatiently for her to move on.
Alec was next.
He glanced at Oscar, but had no idea who he was and paid him no mind. Alec stepped forward, bowed, and offered his cupped hands. Several drops of cold water hit his fingers. He rubbed them onto his forehead, stood up, and briefly made eye contact with Shade.
A fraction of a second later, Shade’s face contorted, as if he’d just bit into a rotten piece of fruit.
Alec forced himself to keep his eyes on Shade. He knows, thought Alec. He knows.
But it wasn’t Alec whom Shade was looking at.
Shade was focused on the next person in line—an elderly woman who’d fallen to her knees and was using a shovel to prop herself up and get back on her feet. The woman’s fingers were twisted and gnarled, as if they had been broken and re-broken many times. Her fingernails were cracked and blackened. Finally, she gave up on standing and began half crawling, half dragging herself toward Shade.
Alec walked away from the fountain, but after several feet, he turned and watched the scene unfolding behind him. The old woman continued crawling toward the fountain, grunting with effort as she grasped at the mossy ground. Shade watched with avid interest, like a spectator, curious to see how much farther the old woman could go.
When she finally reached Shade, he sighed theatrically. “Aren’t you a tired, broken old thing?” he said. His clear voice seemed to ride the breeze and envelop the Meadow.
“I can still be of service, dear Shade,” croaked the old woman. “I’m as hard of a worker now as I was a hundred years ago. I’ve got experience, too. Why, you should see me move dirt.” She cupped her hands together, trying to keep them steady, but they were trembling as if she was on the verge of hypothermia.
Shade tilted his head to the side, unconvinced. “My dear,” he said. “You have done your part—more than your part. You have earned your time in bliss. Now go and chant your mantras with the others. Onward to heaven.”
“Not yet,” croaked the woman. “A few more drops and I’ll manage … I’m just feeling poorly on account of the drops wearing off.”
“The dead do not heal,” replied Shade with a shake of his head. “It’s time.” His voice was quiet, but there was an undeniable hardness to it.
The woman clawed her way forward, moving closer to Shade. He stepped back quickly, as if recoiling from a vile insect.
“Shall I ask young Oscar here to help you?” he asked, his voice now thrumming with an edge of impatience. The woman reached out a hand to receive the drops, but Shade used the tip of his boot to kick her hand away.
Oscar’s eyes fixed on the old woman. She flinched.
“No … no … It’s all right,” she stammered. “But please … let me crawl back to the gate. I should like to feel the moss of the Meadow under my fingers one last time.”
The woman began to turn around and reached for her shovel, which she had left lying on the ground. Shade arched an eyebrow, as if skeptical that she could actually crawl all that distance. He looked beyond her, at the long line of Shadow penitents who were watching him.
“Next!” said Shade. “Step lively, now.”
Someone tapped Alec’s shoulder. He turned around to find Wren boring into him with her eyes. Keep walking, she mouthed.
Flower had set off at a brisk pace toward the other side of the Meadow. Alec and Wren followed. The scene here was far more peaceful. Shadows who’d already received their drops were sitting on the moss, like picnickers on a Sunday afternoon.
There were also, oddly enough, a number of stone statues in this area. This was the only artwork that either Alec or Wren had seen on the entire island. The statues were renderings of people in motion—walking, running, jumping—and they were made of the same gray stone as the wall.
Flower guided Alec and Wren closer to the dense thicket of trees and bushes that sat in the middle of the Meadow. The branches here hung down like thick braids of hair and were covered by razor-sharp thorns and metallic silver leaves. Flower steered them around the thicket until they were hidden from Shade and the other Shadows still waiting in line.
Flower stopped for a moment and trembled, just as she had after receiving the drops.
“You all right?” asked Alec.
“Yes … much better now,” said Flower. She moved her shoulders back and forth as if testing them out. “My arm doesn’t hurt anymore, I can feel my toes, and”—she paused to sniff—“I can even smell a bit. For a few minutes at least, I remember what it means to be alive.”
“I guess that’s good, right?” said Alec.
Flower snorted. “It doesn’t get any better for a dead girl.”
Wren, meanwhile, was paying them no mind. Instead, she kept glancing back in the direction of the fountain even though it was out of sight.
“What is it?” Flower asked.
“I know the grayling who’s standing next to Shade,” replied Wren. “His name is Oscar. We were in the descenders together—back in Edgeland.”
“Hmm,” said Flower. She shook her head roughly, as if trying to regain her senses. “The man who drowned—what’d you call him … Dorman—does he know your names?”
Wren sighed heavily. “Yeah, he might,” said Wren. “When we were in the water, beneath the falls, I said my name. I was just trying to, you know, calm him down.”
Flower considered this. “And then at the harbor, Dorman made a big stink about you two being breathers. Shade and Ember must’ve questioned him. So we’ve gotta assume that Shade and Ember also know your names.”
“So?” said Wren.
“So,” said Flower, putting a finger on Wren’s chest. “Your old pal Oscar just spotted you and, turns out, he’s Shade’s guard dog. You gotta assume he knows they’re looking for you. Question is—do you trust Oscar? He could help Shade connect the dots. Will he tell Shade that he just saw you—up here on the Meadow?”
She glanced down at the scar on her forearm. “He won’t rat on me.”
Flower lifted her eyebrows and glanced back in the direction of the fountain. “I hope you’re right. If the graylings start running at us, we’ll know Oscar raised the alarm.”
“That old woman back there,” said Alec. “What’ll happen to her?”
“If she goes quietly, she’ll get a chair, like everyone else,” replied Flower. “If she causes trouble, well … you know where they’ll put her.”
“It’s awful,” said Wren.
“And there’s no reason for it,” said Flower. “The water in the fountain is fed by some kind of spring, and it’s never gone dry.” Her eyes were tiny orbs of black. “But it’s easier to manage people when they’re in bliss. It’s like keeping them locked up.”
Flower moved closer to the trees and then sat down, crossing her legs and staring ahead with a beatific expression on her face. “Sit with me,” she said, patting the ground. “We need to pass the time like happy Shadows who just got their Drops of Life.”
Alec and Wren joined Flower on the ground. They had their backs to the trees, but still they could feel the cold breath of the small forest behind them.
“The Meadow is starting to clear out,” said Flower. “Shade and Ember don’t want their Keepers talking to one another, so Suns and Shadows take turns up here. In a few minutes, there’ll be a changeover. When that happens, we’ll hi
de in the trees.”
“Why are there trees here?” Wren asked. “And grass? How come the Meadow is the only place that’s alive?”
“It probably has to do with the Drops of Life,” said Flower. “The Drops revive dead things, and they must come from the Meadow before coming out of the fountain.”
Alec stole a glance back at the dense vegetation. It seemed as if you’d need an axe to hack inside. He turned back toward Flower, studying her face. It seemed almost baby-like with her tiny nose, round cheeks, and big eyes. She looked so … fresh. That was the best word for it. It was the opposite of how he felt. He supposed it had been as much as a day and a half since he’d had anything to eat. He felt tired, achy, light-headed … hungry. For a fraction of a second, he recalled Flower’s story about the three sailors in the cave. He shuddered.
Moments later, they heard chirping and cawing.
“The Blind,” whispered Wren.
Flower nodded. “They’re about to sweep across the Meadow to make sure everyone’s gone. It happens before the changeover. We need to move.”
Flower sprung to her feet and was at the edge of the forest in the blink of an eye. Then she thrust her arm into a gap between two thorn bushes and pulled back a large branch, creating an opening big enough for them to crawl through. After they were inside, Flower released the branch and they were plunged into darkness.
“Where do we go?” whispered Alec.
“Wait for your eyes to adjust,” Flower replied. “Then crawl toward the light.”
Alec crawled forward until the branches fell away and he came upon a small clearing. Slender beams of light filtered down through the trees. Steam rose from the earth and mixed with the muted light, giving the clearing a ghostly glow.
Alec and Wren glanced around at the canopy of branches surrounding them. Meanwhile, Flower sat down and leaned against a tree trunk. “We’ll stay here for a few hours,” she said. “Then we can head back out and leave with the Suns.” She extended her arms and stretched, groaning happily as she did, like a traveler after a long journey.
