Nightfall (24 page)

Kana, Marin, and Line walked through a sparsely treed stretch of forest. Moonlight washed the landscape, bathing everything in a milky light. They moved quickly, and for a while, none of them spoke.

As she walked, Marin strained her eyes to look for any signs of lekar. More than once, she fought off the temptation to stop and search more closely. Line might die if they didn't find lekar soon, but they could all die if they stopped to look for it.

“What kind of boat is it?” asked Marin finally. The silence had become oppressive and she wanted to know more about what, precisely, Kana had found.

“It looks like an old furrier's longboat,” said Kana. His voice sounded strained.

Marin turned toward Line with a forced half smile.

“And you found the knife—well done!”

Neither Line nor Kana replied, but she saw them glance at each other. Clearly, something had happened between the two of them, but neither wanted to talk about it.

“How long was the boat?” asked Marin. She rubbed her face
and felt the cold on her nose and lips, then tightened the scarf around her neck, hoping to eke out a little more warmth.

Kana noted Marin's adjustments and curiously touched his own face. His skin wasn't cold at all—in fact, it felt warm. “I don't know—maybe thirty or forty feet,” said Kana. “Big enough.”

“Which is it—thirty or forty?” asked Line tensely. He was walking in the back of their procession, slightly hunched over and cradling his bad arm. “Ten feet of hull makes a big difference when crossing the open sea.”

Kana glared at Line. “I don't know,” he replied. “I didn't have a measuring stick with me.”

“Does it matter?” asked Marin. “It's not like we have a choice of boats.”

They continued walking in silence. Soon it began to rain and then the rain quickly turned to sleet. The pieces of sleet grew larger and harder, until they became pebble-size balls of solid ice. It stung their exposed skin, but it hurt even underneath their clothes. They bent down as if struggling under heavy loads.

“What's happening?” Marin asked. She was breathing heavily, trying to prevent panic from taking over. Every time she couldn't imagine it getting any worse, it did.

“I don't know,” shouted Line. “Keep going. Stay under the trees.”

And then, as quickly as it began, the sleet ended. It was exactly like a wave, rolling through, punishing in its power, then gone.

They pressed on and soon arrived at the large meadow that
had been cleared by a forest fire. Kana came upon the fork in the path. The main path turned back into the woods and climbed up a steep slope. On the far side of this slope was the cave. The other trail, which was fainter, cut through the meadow. Beyond the meadow, in the moonlight, was the distant glimmer of the seabed. They lingered on the edge of the meadow for a few seconds, in the shadows just outside the moonlight. Kana and Marin started up the main path, but halted when they realized Line had stopped walking.

“Line—let's go,” called Kana. “We're close.”

Line did not respond. His face was impassive, and he stood rigidly, almost at attention. “Tell me why you're headed back into the woods,” he said.

“Because that's the way the trail goes,” said Kana. He read Line's face and posture, and tensed. It was clear that the encounter at the base of the tree could not be ignored. Could he postpone the inevitable, until they reached the boat?
Doubtful.

“The other path leads to the sea,” said Line. His eyes narrowed as he peered at Kana. “Even I can tell that.”

“I know,” said Kana, trying to modulate his voice so that it was as reassuring as possible. It was probably too late to convince Line, but he had to try. “I almost went that way myself, but I'm telling you, the boat is up this trail. Please—Line—let's go. Now.”

Line didn't move. “No,” he said firmly.

Marin stepped forward. Somehow this had turned into a confrontation.
Why is Line doing this?
They couldn't afford to waste time. Not when Kana had found the boat and they were about to leave the island.

“Line,” said Marin in a calm, direct voice. “We need to follow Kana.”

Line ignored her. He drew himself up and confronted Kana. “I'll follow you, but first you have to
tell
her. I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen.” His eyes blazed.

“Tell me what?” Marin demanded. “LINE?”

“Right now, the only thing to know is that I found the boat,” said Kana. He put out his hand in a subconscious gesture to mollify Line. “Nothing else matters. Nothing.”

Slowly Line pointed to his shoulder, which was spotted with fresh blood. “Why is my shoulder bleeding?” he asked. “You cut me—with your . . .” He jerked his head toward Kana. “Go on, tell her.”

Kana's eyes were steady, but his lips and mouth twitched.

“We don't have time for this . . . ,” said Marin.

“Kana,” said Line. “No more secrets.”

“I've had about enough of you,” said Kana. He took a step toward Line and his hands curled into fists. A small tremor started at his jaw. They were separated by two feet, perhaps three. Marin took a step sideways and again inserted herself between them. Kana was scaring her—she'd never seen him like this.

“This is not happening!” said Marin fiercely. “Turn around, be quiet, and start walking up the hill.”

“I'll go,” said Line finally. “As soon as Kana shows you what he showed me.”

Marin grabbed Line by the shoulder. “Will
somebody
tell me what's going on? Right now!”

“Fine!” said Kana, his voice trembling with anger. “I'm sick of this.”

Kana sat on a nearby boulder and began unlacing his boots. It took him a while—they were made of thick leather that clung to his feet. Finally, Kana wedged them off, and his legs dangled freely, catching the glow of the moon. The three of them stared at his feet. They were streaked with blood, and had obviously grown too large for his boots. His talons were long and thick and curved. Protective ridges had formed above the bones in his feet. His previously thin ankles had expanded with sinew and muscle. Midway up the back of each ankle, a full-size talon emerged. It was like staring at the feet of an overgrown bird of prey.

Marin's gasped. She glanced over at Line, who was steely faced.

“Are you happy?” asked Kana. He stared at Line as he spit out the question.

Line's face was a mask. Kana had been a friend—that was true—but now, clearly, he was a threat.

Marin lifted her head and looked at her brother. Other things about him seemed suddenly different.
How did I not notice before?
His skin seemed rougher. He'd been scrawny his whole life, but now his shoulders and arms were strong. The muscles that connected his neck to his back were visible.
Even his ears look different—could they be larger than I remember?
Her mind raced, trying to put together when all these changes had occurred.

“I wanted to tell you,” said Kana. He got up from the boulder
and stepped toward Marin. “I know I should have told you, but you have to believe me about the boat. I wouldn't lie.”

Marin backed up, away from the exposed meadow and deeper into the shadow of the trees. Her mind whirled with confusion. “I don't understand,” she said. “What—? Who—?”

“Stop,” interrupted Kana. “There's a boat. I promise. For the two of you.”

Marin put her hand to her mouth. “The two of us . . . ,” she whispered.

“Yes,” said Kana. “You and Line.”

“You're my brother,”
said Marin. “Why is this happening to you?”

Kana grimaced. He just wanted to get them on the boat. Right now, that was all that mattered. “I don't understand, either,” he said. “But I know that you and Line have to leave the island.”

“Not without you,” said Marin. Tears were streaming down her face. She looked at his talons again. They were horrifying.

“You have to trust me,” said Kana. He took another step toward Marin. Instinctively, she backed up again, tripping over an exposed tree root and falling. Kana went to help her, but Line quickly stepped between them, blocking Kana's way.

“Give her some space,” said Line. He put his good hand firmly on Kana's shoulder. His intent was unmistakable.
You will not touch her.
All three were in the shadow of the trees, on rocky ground.

“Get your hand off of me,” said Kana, pushing Line away.

Line shoved him back. Kana absorbed the blow easily and stood his ground. In a sudden whirl he grabbed Line's good arm and twisted it sharply, then flung him toward the meadow.
Line smashed into a tree stump and fell limply into the tall grass. Kana crossed the distance between them in a single jump and picked up Line by his shirt. Line writhed in front of Kana like a hooked fish. Blood trickled freely from a gash in Line's face.

“Get away from him!” Marin screamed as she tugged at Kana's elbow. “Stop!”

Kana glanced back at her, shrugged free of her grip, and returned his attention to Line. He brought Line's face forward so it was only inches from his own. Kana's free hand rose and folded slowly around Line's neck. Kana's mind was empty of everything but white-hot anger.

A moment later, excruciating pain blossomed across Kana's skull and radiated down his back. He dropped Line and toppled onto his knees. Groaning, he grabbed the back of his head. His hands came away slick with blood. He felt dizzy, and instinctively began to crawl.
Reach the trees.
It was an ancient order, coming from somewhere deep inside his subconscious brain. Bushes reared up around him, and he stopped, feeling the branches sheltering his head and back.

“KANA!”

He raised his head slowly. Above him stood Marin. She gripped a long, heavily knotted tree branch. Just ahead he sensed plunging terrain and the forest.

“Hurt him again and I'll hit you even harder,” said Marin. “Do you understand?” Her voice cracked, but there was no mistaking the blaze in her eyes.

Kana rose slowly to standing. His lips moved, but it was several seconds before he managed to speak.

“Marin, I'm sorry,” he whispered, reaching out for her with both hands. As he stared at Marin, he felt momentarily drawn back to his senses—to his old self. In the distance, he saw Line lying on the ground, face bloodied. Kana shuddered.
Did I really just do that?
“The boat . . .”

“Get away!” she shrieked, clutching the tree branch. Kana took a step closer. She pursed her lips tightly and raised the branch above her head.

Kana nodded wearily. His body teetered back and forth, as if buffeted by a fierce wind. His vision blurred and, for a moment, he saw the cave wall, alive with drawings. He reached out for them, tripped over a bush, and fell into the underbrush. The terrain here pitched down steeply. Kana clawed at the earth for purchase, but it did no good. He picked up speed and slid into the darkness below.

Marin stared into the forest, unblinking, dimly conscious of an ache that blossomed up her arm. She looked down and with sudden horror dropped the branch she was holding.
What the hell just happened? What did I do? And where is my brother?
Clarity rushed back to her, and with it, a kind of wild remorse. Her mind flashed back to the time Kana fell into the canyon near the pond. In that moment, she feared that she had lost him forever. Now the same danger—and the same fear—seemed to have been realized.

“Kana?”
she called.

No reply.

“Kana? Please. Answer me.”

Again, nothing.

“Marin,” whispered Line. He was behind her, halfway sitting up, still in the meadow where Kana had thrown him. He seemed groggy but not seriously injured, even though the blood on his face made him look rather gruesome.

“I saw him tumble down that slope into the woods,” said
Marin, frantically pointing into the forest. “I don't know where he is.”

Line hesitated for several seconds. “What do you mean?” he asked. He spoke slowly and seemed disoriented. “Where . . . where did he go?”

“I don't know,” said Marin, a tremor in her voice. “KANA! Come back!” Her voice was as loud as she dared. She looked around as if lost. “We have to find my brother,” she whispered.

Why did it take me so long to realize that something was wrong?
The clues had been there for months: his sudden strength, his ability to see in the dark, his loss of appetite, his nightmares, and so on. She had seen all of this, and yet she hadn't questioned any of it.

Suddenly, a massive tree limb fell nearby. Marin jumped. Then a second limb fell. It cracked deafeningly and seemed to explode as it hit the ground.

She ran into the meadow and helped Line to his feet. Another loud crack echoed through the forest. It was closer this time, and it sounded as if a tree canopy had just snapped in two.

“Something's coming,” said Line. He turned toward the smaller side trail that cut through the meadow. This was the path that led away from the cave—the one that Kana warned them not to take.

Marin grabbed his arm. “Stop!” she whispered. “What about the cave and the boat? And Kana?”

“We need to—”

Suddenly, the forest exploded in noise. It was a mixture of animal grunts, branches tearing, and rocks smashing against each other—and it came from the main trail, the one leading to
the cave. Line pulled on her arm, but he need not have bothered. Marin was already running down the side trail and across the meadow. The meadow sloped downward, which helped them run blindingly fast, but then it ended abruptly at a thick line of trees. Line cursed.

The side trail continued into the woods, and they had no choice but to keep following it. As they ran, the path grew even fainter. Branches stung their faces and arms. They tripped over roots but stayed upright. The side trail dipped and climbed but none of that mattered to Marin. She welcomed it all: the burn in her lungs, the painful tingling in her fingers, heat crawling up her neck and across her scalp. It was simple and primal. She ran until her legs buckled and she collapsed.

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.”