Nightfall Read online

  By the time she returned to the mayor’s quarters, Line and Kana had moved the two main couches so that they faced each other, creating a space large enough for the three of them to sleep. There was a nest of sheets, a few blankets, and some towels to cover themselves with. They were already lying down, but when she crept into the room, they stood up without a word and all three pushed a massive armoire in front of the door, along with the dresser and bureau.

  Marin was the last of the three to get back under the blanket. The open space was next to Line. She blew out the one candle that was still lit, huddled against the length of Line’s body, and tried to relax. Line turned on his back and slowly took her hand in his. He turned to look at her. They were very close, so close that Marin could feel his breath on her cheeks.

  “Thank you for rescuing me,” he whispered.

  “I haven’t yet,” she whispered back.

  Marin slid her free hand into her coat pocket, feeling for the velvet bag that she’d retrieved from her luggage. She then wiggled her fingers into the bag itself, feeling the long silver chain and the clunky sunstone. Merely touching the necklace filled her with guilt and no small amount of self-loathing. This was the reason that they’d been left behind. And she’d had it all along.

  Months ago, when she’d returned from the woods—after her failed adventure with Line and Kana—she’d looked inside the leather satchel and hadn’t found it. Marin had been furious with Line for leaving it by the edge of the pond. Then, a few days later, she picked up the satchel again and realized it was too heavy to be empty. The necklace was hidden within a tear on the inside seam of the bag.

  Marin was both relieved and horrified. She’d intended to tell Line right away, she really had, but the right moment had never come. And after a while, it became too awkward to admit what happened. Then Line had gone looking for it, which was incredibly stupid, but the truth was that it was all her fault. She had been too embarrassed to tell Line that she’d found the necklace. It was her own stubborn pride that brought them here, and now their lives were in jeopardy.

  Marin would have to tell them at some point, that much was clear, but perhaps it made the most sense to wait until they’d found the spare boat at the fishing depot and were making their escape along the river. At such a time, they’d be so glad to have the sunstone that they might forgive her. That was her hope. In any case, it would do no good to tell them now. Everybody was tense enough as it was. Marin kept rubbing the sunstone with her fingers, as if this would wipe the problem away. Finally a heavy drowsiness came over her and she fell into a deep sleep.

  Sometime much later, Marin woke to a piercing sound. She thought then of the knives below, and of the sharpeners. Marin cursed. The knives. We should have taken all of them out of the mantel.

  Slow, heavy footsteps came up the stairs. They sounded much louder than last time.

  “It’s back!” she shouted. She didn’t dare voice her other thought—it sounded like there were more than just one.

  In a heartbeat, Marin, Line, and Kana were on their feet. Together they braced themselves against the armoire and dressers that barricaded the entranceway. Then the pounding began—huge, powerful blows. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! There was no doubt about it. There were several bodies trying to force their way in. If it weren’t for the barricade, the door would have blown open. Still, the furniture shuddered ominously. The ferocity of the blows was unmistakable—the things on the other side of the door were determined to get in this time.

  “Hold!” screamed Line, who was pushing madly against the armoire. “HOLD!”

  They all focused their efforts on the massive armoire. If it slid away, the dressers behind it wouldn’t be strong enough to keep the door closed. They lined up against the armoire, dug their heels into the ground, and pushed with all the ferocity of those whose lives hung in the balance. The armoire slid forward an inch, and then backward an inch, again and again.

  The hinge that fastened the top of the door to the wall started coming loose. The screws were being yanked out—it wouldn’t be long before the top of the door separated from the wall entirely. But there was nothing they could do about it.

  The battering at the door continued for several minutes until, suddenly, Kana slipped at the same time that the door bulged inward from a series of ferocious blows. The force of this new attack jettisoned Kana backward. He sprawled across the floor and the armoire slid forward several inches. The door creaked open. Marin screamed. Grunting erupted from the hallway, and the door was under such pressure that it seemed to bend. Kana threw himself against the armoire with tremendous force. His effort seemed almost superhuman and, amazingly, the armoire slid forward by a half a foot and—once again—the door to the room closed.

  Shortly after this, the battering stopped. One of the creatures bellowed and they heard a splintering, cracking sound. Marin’s heart sank. It was over. The door was breaking.

  “It’s just a knife—the door is holding,” gasped Kana, seemingly reading her thoughts. Then came the sound of squeaking floorboards as the things made their way back down the stairs. Then silence. A long, eerie silence. A minute passed. Then another. Kana, Line, and Marin slumped to the floor, out of breath. More time passed. Finally, they rose to their feet and began to clear the barricade. When the furniture was moved away, they stood at the door and listened.

  Silence.

  Line tensed and put his hand on the doorknob. “Ready?” he whispered.

  “Do it,” replied Marin.

  Line opened the door in a fluid motion. Kana, out first, confirmed that the hallway was empty. He looked at the door. It was cracked in several places. Directly above each of the three hash marks was a knife stuck into the wood. Line reached up and tried to extract one of the daggers. It wouldn’t budge.

  Marin stood at the top of the stairs and listened. Kana joined her.

  “They’re gone,” Kana said. “Or at least they’re not in the house anymore.”

  “They’ll be back,” said Marin. She looked around, taking in the pervasive gloom, polished banisters, walls, floors, and ceiling. A feeling of clarity descended upon her. “Don’t you see? They built this house.” Then she extended both arms and gestured all around. “They built all of this.”

  “She’s right,” said Kana softly.

  “Do you think the mayor knew?” asked Line, eyes trained on the floor.

  “Doesn’t matter at this point,” said Marin. She reached down and began to tighten the laces on her boots. “What matters is, this town is theirs—and they want it back.”

  CHAPTER 29

  They gathered up their possessions and put them in the sack Marin had found. It wasn’t much: their remaining handful of candles, several lengths of rope, a nearly empty box of matches, a well-used flint, and the leftover food she’d gathered. Marin and Line each carried a knife from the mantelpiece, and Marin had the copper box with the marking scalpels. They walked quickly through the darkness, heading for the hermit’s cottage. It was raining steadily and within minutes they were soaked. The rain was piercingly cold, and Marin was grateful again for the oilskin and the extra clothes.

  Overhead, the air was alive with the frenzied chirping and fluttering of bats—tens of thousands of them. They had arrived within the last twelve months, following the Night, and their numbers had been increasing steadily by the week. The bats seemed to live in the forest, yet every few days or so, they suddenly appeared near the coast to feed. The rain in particular seemed to enrage them, and now they dove aggressively toward the ground, swooping so close that the three of them had to hunch down to protect their faces.

  And then, as suddenly as they appeared, the bats vanished. Tiny pellets of ice began falling from the sky. The hail lasted for just over a minute, but it was enough to sting their faces and hands before it shifted back to rain. The weather finally cleared and, in relief, they slowed their pace. They were nearing th
e hermit’s house.

  Since leaving Deep Well House, Marin had thought only of the dark path in front of her. She fully expected something to jump out at them, and she gripped the knife so hard that her hand began to ache. When she eased her grip on the knife, other thoughts began to reenter her mind. She thought of her parents. Where are they now?

  “I suppose it was stupid to think that he would come back for us,” said Marin finally.

  “Who?” asked Kana.

  “Father.”

  Kana slowed as he considered what Marin said. “I’m sure he would have come if he could,” he said at last.

  “I want to believe you,” she replied. “I really, really do, but—”

  “You’re not giving him enough credit,” said Kana. “I know you’re talking about what happened with that furrier, but what was he going to do? Yell? Hit him?” He shook his head. “No. His concern was getting us onto the boats—even if it meant being insulted.”

  “You’re right,” said Marin with a sigh. “I guess . . . I just hated seeing Dad that way—I never thought he would let anyone treat him like that. He just seemed so . . . powerless.”

  Line was walking next to them, listening to the conversation. He hadn’t seen the furriers, but what he heard from Marin made him think again of Francis. Who’s watching over him—now—at this very minute?

  “If there was any way, Father would have come back,” said Kana. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Right,” said Marin. “If there was any way.”

  For his part, Line was glad to hear Marin talk this way. He didn’t blame the adults, but he didn’t expect anything from them, either. When his mother died, Line had assumed that the town would simply take care of them. And it had—for about three days. After that, they were slowly forgotten. He wasn’t bitter about this. Not anymore. But he understood: At some point, when things go wrong, you have to fix them yourself.

  They continued on in silence. Minutes later, they smelled smoke.

  “What do you think?” asked Line.

  Marin looked around and sniffed the air. “His is the only house in this area. If he’s still here, that would be a very lucky break.”

  “It seems pretty crazy for him to have stayed, unless he really hated the Desert Lands.” Line laughed darkly. “Do you think he’s just hanging around, sipping dandelion wine, making popcorn, and waiting for us to show up?”

  Marin glanced wryly at Line. “Dandelion wine? Popcorn?”

  “Dandelion wine and popcorn would taste good about now,” said Line with a smile. “He’s not as strange as people in town think. I talked to him a few times.”

  Marin was about to respond but noticed Kana’s gait was off, as if he had a pebble in his boot.

  “Are you okay?” she asked her brother.

  Kana stopped and looked at her. “I’m fine,” he replied. “Why?”

  “It looked like you were limping a little,” said Marin.

  Kana shook his head. They continued walking as the scent of smoke grew stronger and stronger. Finally they rounded a bend in the trail and came upon the hermit’s ramshackle cottage. Smoke billowed from its chimney. This wasn’t the smoke of a dying fire. This was the smoke of a blaze that had just been stoked with fresh wood. One of the windows flickered with a faint light.

  Kana looked at Line. “Should we knock?”

  “No,” said Line. “There’s another door around back.”

  The three of them circled the house, walking slowly but deliberately. The place was in terrible disrepair. Several of the windows were cracked, the walls were tilting, most of the gutters were already on the ground, and the roof was so buckled, it looked in danger of caving in. When they finally found the back door, Marin took a step forward and listened for any sounds of movement inside. There were none.

  “I don’t hear anything,” whispered Marin. “Uh, what’s that smell?” Suddenly, she was aware of being alone.

  “Line? Kana?”

  Kana’s voice floated in from the darkness. “We’re behind you—knock.”

  Marin stepped forward and rapped her fist against the door’s wooden frame. There was no reply. She knocked again, but after a second or two she just grabbed the old brass doorknob and pushed the door open. She stepped into the cottage and was immediately struck by a putrid odor. The first floor of the house was one large room, the dim space partially illuminated by the blaze of the fire that crackled in the stone hearth.

  “Hello?” called Marin.

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  Still nothing. Kana and Line joined her inside.

  “I don’t think he’s here,” she said.

  “So who built the fire?” asked Kana. He found himself hungry all of a sudden, as if his appetite had awakened with a start.

  “Probably the hermit,” said Line. “But he spent a lot of time in the forest. Look at this place. Would you want to spend your days hanging out here?”

  “What could he be cooking?” asked Marin. “It smells disgusting.”

  The three of them all sniffed the air at once.

  “It’s not so bad,” said Kana. “And I’ve got the weakest stomach of anyone I know.”

  Together, the three of them looked around the room. It was a labyrinth of clutter. Wooden crates were strewn about, some empty, some filled with scraps of wood. Fishing gear of all sorts—nets, lines, hooks, and buoys—were scattered across a rickety kitchen table. Overhead, hanging from the rafters were strands of dried herbs, musty pelts, fishing rods, rusting animal traps, empty bottles, and coils of fraying rope.

  In the far corner of the room was a small area that looked like the kitchen. The wood-plank walls were stained with soot. There was a water basin, a stack of tin pans, some well-worn utensils, and a few jars of spices. Line did a quick scan of the area in the hopes of finding some food. There was none. He did, however, find a small trapdoor in the floor, but when he opened it, he saw that it was merely a garbage chute that emptied into a foul-smelling pit.

  A steaming cast-iron pot hung from a hook over the hearth. Marin walked over to the fireplace to take a closer look at what, exactly, was cooking. At first glance, she thought it was just an ordinary brown stew—with some sizable chunks of meat—until she realized that the chunks of meat were, in fact, the sinew and muscle tissue of bats.

  She blanched and took a step back. “No wonder he was a hermit,” she said under her breath.

  “What is it?” asked Line as he walked over to have a look. Kana was on the other side of the room, looking at the front door.

  “Bats,” said Marin.

  “Marin! Line! Come over here,” said Kana. They ran to the front door—the one they had opted not to use when entering the house. Kana had opened it and was staring at something.

  “What is it?” asked Line.

  Kana stepped outside, walked forward several feet, and then abruptly stopped. He turned back toward the front door, looking grim. “You need to see this.”

  Marin and Line walked over. Carved into the wood of the door was a hash mark that had been crossed out.

  Kana pointed into the darkness beyond the house. “It gets worse.”

  Marin had absolutely no desire to go out and see for herself, but she lit a candle and took Line’s hand and, together, they ventured into the darkness. They didn’t see anything at first. In fact, Line almost stepped on it accidentally—then he glanced down and saw the brown grubby fingers, the long bent arm, and the prone body of the hermit. He was lying on his stomach, face pressed into the earth. Line knelt down, grabbed hold of the shoulder, and, with some effort, began to flip him.

  “Line!” said Kana. “I wouldn’t do that . . .”

  But it was too late. The body flopped over, revealing the hermit’s front side.

  Line recoiled instantly. The man’s torso was soaked with the b
lood that now covered Line’s hands. A trickle of blood still oozed from the hermit’s head and neck, which were marred with a number of small, perfectly round puncture wounds. There was no point in taking the man’s pulse. He was clearly dead.

  CHAPTER 30

  They ran back to the house. Kana immediately locked both the front and the back doors, sealing them shut with sturdy iron bolts. Apparently, no one told the hermit to remove his locks—or perhaps he just didn’t care. Line walked to the washing basin in the little kitchen and began rinsing his hands, then scrubbing them with a small piece of soapstone. The blood came off fairly easily, but Line continued to scrub for several minutes.

  As he ran the stone over his skin, Line tried to force the image of the dead hermit out of his mind. He couldn’t dwell on this. It was not useful information. It would not help him get off the island. That’s it. That’s the key. Every piece of information, every fact, every thought—it all needs to be sorted into two simple categories. I should’ve realized this before, in the pit. There are thoughts that will help us escape and thoughts that will not. And all thoughts about dead dogs, dead hermits, dead relatives, and missing brothers have to be placed squarely in the unhelpful category. Those unhelpful thoughts have to be blocked out. They don’t exist.

  Marin walked over to Line and put a hand on his shoulder. He was hunched over, concentrating fiercely on his hands. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” said Line, still scrubbing.

  “I’m serious,” said Marin. “Are you all right?”