Nightfall (28 page)

The wall was slick, vertical, and nearly smooth. Still, tiny holds were scattered throughout and, therefore, it could be climbed. Starting at the base of the cliff, several cracks in the rock zigzagged up the face. Along with the cracks, a few scalloped divots were enough to balance a finger or a tiny portion of a foot. As she drew close to the wall, Marin could see all this. The markings on her arms were not as radiant as a torch, or a candle, or even a matchstick. The reach of its light was several inches at most, but was useful even so. It gave her hope. Most important, it allowed a weakened Line to follow her lead.

Marin began to climb the wall. She blocked out the darkness, the rain, the cold.
It's just another climb.
She repeated this over and over, pausing only to make sure that Line was behind her. Every one of her movements was deliberate, because she knew Line needed it. He needed the certainty that she was climbing well and making the right choices. Line could rely only on one good arm and infrequently on his wounded one.

About twenty minutes into the climb, they had made substantial progress. But this did not give Marin or Line any reassurance. It made sense. The creatures wanted a show, and it wouldn't be exciting if they failed too early. When they were high enough—when falling meant certain death—the wall would likely become more difficult.

And so it happened. At a certain point, the crack narrowed and became so tiny that Marin could barely squeeze the tip of her pinky into it. However, alongside the crack—in the faint glow created by her skin markings—she saw a series of shallow divots. This was all she needed.

“It's still climbable,” she called down to Line, who was staring up at her. “Feel around for the divots along the crack and then you can just pinch your way up.”

“Marin—I—I . . .”

She knew that he was about to say he couldn't, but she interrupted him before he voiced that thought.

“It's like the splintered rock at the edge of Bliss,” she said, forcing her voice to radiate calm. “You have to dig in hard with your toes. You can do this. You're a better climber than I am. Wedge your fingers in.” Her voice rose and she struggled suddenly to control it. “You can do this,” she repeated. “But it's going to hurt. Make them bleed if you have to.”

“Yes,” whispered a voice from the darkness.
“Bleeeeed.”

And so they crept up the wall. Marin waited for Line to crimp his way up the crack, ascending the wall ever so slowly. Before long, the waiting for Line became painful. Marin's fingers were raw and her legs kept seizing up as her calves and
thighs jittered with muscle spasms. But the most ominous sign was that her forearms were beginning to tire. Once she lost the power to grip, it'd be over.

It was difficult to tell where they were. Marin kept looking up, hoping to see the top of the cliff. After all, they had made it this far.

Early in the climb, Marin had glanced back over her shoulder and seen a galaxy of faint lights; she soon realized that these were the eyes of the spectators who had come to witness her climb and, presumably, her fall. However, as she climbed and steadily weakened, she sensed that the throng of creatures had closed in around her. She could hear them nearby, ascending with her, reacting to her every move. The sensation reminded her of walking on Bliss's nearby beach and stepping carefully as sea crabs scurried underfoot.

As they approached, Marin's heart sank. She understood what this meant: an insurmountable challenge loomed in front of them. Perhaps an overhang or loose rock. The creatures could see it. They knew it was just up ahead, which is why they were drawing nearer. These were the same creatures who shared their town, their houses, their beds. And they wanted to see them fall, up close.

Line and Marin had drawn even and were climbing within inches of each other. Just a minute or two later, they came upon it. Ice. They could feel it with their hands. Whatever cracks and nubs there may have been had vanished under the smooth layer of ice. They stopped climbing. Neither of them spoke—they didn't have to.

In those days before the sun disappeared, before they were left behind, ice was an oddity. Nothing more. But now the cold shimmered off the rock in thick waves, and it chilled Marin so deeply that she felt numb all over. It made her want to let go.

Line's breath was coming in ragged gasps. She knew he was flailing, searching in panic for a hold in the ice.

Marin didn't dare speak for fear of losing her focus. She took her finger out of a nub and tried to wiggle out a cramp.

“Let go,” whispered a nearby voice. “Make the pain go away. Let go.”

“Fall,” murmured another.

And then it caught on. All around her, the creatures began to chant softly, in unison:
“Fall, fall, fall . . .”
Their raspy whispers reverberated through the canyon, like a great wind rustling dead leaves.

“My legs are locked,” gasped Marin. “Line! LINE!”

“Fall, fall, fall . . .”

“Don't listen to them!” shouted Line.

“Fall, fall, fall . . .”

“I'm losing my grip!” called Marin, struggling to suppress a panic.

“Fall, fall, fall . . .”

Marin felt herself tilting backward. Her arms weren't strong enough. She was going to fall. She was going to die climbing. She was going to fail at the one thing she was best at—and that would be the end. And Line would die, too—because of her and the mess that she had gotten them into. And in this moment, more than anything, Marin felt . . . not fear, but a deep regret.
Kana.
She imagined his face, in the sunlight, squinting—the way he used to as a boy.

And then, seconds later, she heard Kana's voice calling to her. “Kana!” she screamed back at him. “Kana!”

A blinding flash of light came from above. Her muscles clenched and she pulled herself flush to the wall of the canyon. She looked up and saw a long, swirling cord of blazing-red flame—like a burning serpent descending on them. She could hear the creatures around her skittering away. The light was so bright that she couldn't see the creatures at first, only their shadows. Then a creature fell, dropped right past her, and screamed as it hit the witches' fingers below. All the while, the burning snake was plunging toward her. It was only when it shot past her that she saw what it actually was: a long, spiraling vine whose end had been lit on fire. So far, just the last ten feet of the vine was burning; the remainder was unlit, like the fuse on a firecracker. The vine continued to drop, for perhaps another twenty feet, and then it stopped moving.

An instant later, Marin heard a voice calling from above.

“Grab the vine and climb!”

It was Kana's voice.

Marin and Line needed no persuading. They each grabbed hold of the vine and—bruised and battered—began to pump and pull themselves up as quickly as they could. Below was utter chaos—clearly the fire panicked the creatures. The wall was alive with movement; bodies were pushing, clawing, and colliding. Marin glanced down and saw immediately that the flames were gaining on her, ascending the vine faster than she was.
Line, who had always been very good with ropes, was already nearing the top of the canyon. Marin, however, couldn't keep pace. After hours of exertion, her legs obeyed her brain only fitfully.

Meanwhile, at the top of the canyon, Kana was struggling with all his might to hold on to the wick vine. Initially his plan had gone well, better than he could have hoped for, but now Marin was stuck at the bottom of the rope and the flames were about to overtake her.

Kana cursed to himself. There was no place to anchor the rope. That had been his plan from the outset, but the top of the canyon was bare of trees, boulders, or roots. So he had to hold the rope himself. Line was getting closer, but he was still a good ten feet away, and he knew Marin couldn't wait that long.

“Go on—get her!”

Kana jerked his head back and saw Soraya staring at him with her large, lifeless, amber-colored eyes. She was already holding the vine.

“Go!” she commanded.

Seconds later, Kana was rushing down the vine at full speed. When he came upon Line, he yelled at him to hold tight. Then he vaulted over Line and briefly plummeted down in a free fall. From afar, it looked as if he was dropping to his death, but Kana reached out, grabbed at the vine again, and continued his descent. By the time he reached Marin, the flames had begun lapping her feet.

“Kana!” she cried, reaching for his outstretched arm. Kana seized her hand and pulled her up. She clutched him fiercely
with one arm and tried to beat out the flames on her pants with the other.

“Just hold on!” he yelled as he climbed with Marin hanging on to his shoulders.

“I tried,” she said. The words came tumbling out in a mad haste. “I tried to find you in the forest . . .” But the shrieking from below drowned out the rest of what she said.

Kana put all of his might into ascending the rope until, completely spent, he pulled himself across the upper lip of the precipice and eased Marin off his shoulders. She was yelling incoherently. The fire had caught on her pants and was burning her legs. He threw himself across her and extinguished the flames with his body. Groaning, he rolled away and struggled to his feet. At that moment, he saw the jagged, glowing slashes across Marin's arms.

Marin muttered something unintelligible. Her hair was singed and her face was swollen with fast-rising bruises. She looked around, suddenly aware of Soraya.

“It's all right,” said Line. “She's the one who saved us.”

“No,” said Soraya coldly. Then she pointed a long, elegant finger at Kana and said, “He's the one who came back for you.”

“I waited nearby, in the tops of the trees,” said Kana. “I waited for hours—I knew you were down there.” He was aware of Line looking at him. For a moment, Kana panicked.
They won't come with me. They're too scared.
But then Line stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” said Line, squeezing his friend's shoulder.

Kana thought of taking Line's hand but stopped abruptly when he thought of how leathery his own hand had become.

“We found each other,” replied Kana tersely. “That's what matters.”

“We leave now,” snapped Soraya. She tossed the vine she had been holding over the precipice.

They heard screams from below. Moments later, a lone voice thundered up from the depths.

“SORAYA!”

The sleet returned in force—and as they ran, it became a maelstrom of ice, slush, and snow. It stung and drenched them all at once. Visibility was low, so they formed a ragged line and ran together into the woods.

Line was last, and as he stumbled across the uneven terrain, he could hear a cacophony of noise erupt from behind him. It was high-pitched and so powerful that Line couldn't help but wince. It was not one shriek but hundreds, and they reverberated through the woods, melding together like a chorus of demons from the underworld.

Line charged forward, errant branches cutting and tearing at his face. It didn't matter—he was so filled with adrenaline that he felt nothing. He was focused entirely on Marin, who was directly in front of him and running just as fast as he was. Occasionally, his hand slipped out of hers and—in those brief, terrifying moments—he would have been hopelessly lost if it weren't for the glowing lines on Marin's arms. Together, they pressed on. Kana was ahead of Marin, and all of them were
following the creature that Kana had called Soraya. It must have been Soraya who spoke to Marin at the citadel. She had been helping them all along.
But why?
Because of Kana, of course.
What was between them? Did it even matter?

The woods soon began to thin and they emerged into an open area covered with clumps of ice-encrusted grass, some as tall as Line's shoulders. Wind and sleet were blowing sideways now, causing the grass to whip madly about. They all ran together until Line took a bad step, twisted his weak ankle, and fell. By the time he rose to his feet, Line had lost sight of Marin and the others. He was about to call out to her when he heard something behind him. It was very close.

Line knew he couldn't outrun this thing. Not in the darkness. He had to strike first.

He sidestepped into the tall grass and knelt down. With his good hand, Line searched madly for something—anything. Buried under the mud, he found a fist-size rock. For a second, he marveled at how natural it seemed to be holding this rock, waiting to bludgeon his enemy.
Who have I become?
No matter. He would ponder such questions later, if he lived. Line gripped the rock and waited for several long seconds. The sound of movement grew louder, and when he felt it rush past, he leapt from the grass and struck the darkened body with all his might. He brought the rock down again and again, hoping to hit its head. At first the creature merely growled, as if angered, but then Line heard a sickening crack, and all went quiet. Line fell next to the creature and kept hitting it, well past the time when it was dead.

“Line!” called a voice.

It was Marin.

Line pulled himself off the ground. He stood and looked around, wild-eyed, half expecting hordes of creatures to descend on him.

“Line!”

He pushed himself through the grass, moving toward the sound of her voice.

“Line!”

He followed the glowing lines in the distance. When he finally found her, Marin didn't even react to his blood-covered arms or to the rock he was holding. She just grabbed his hand and led him through the grass, then up a steep, rocky slope. In front of them, Line could see two figures: Kana and Soraya.

“What happened?” asked Kana, staring at Line's bloodcovered arms. For a moment, suspicion clouded his face.

Line was about to answer, but suddenly they heard a leathery flutter of wings, and his face erupted in pinpricks of pain. His hands closed around a warm, furry, plump body. Bats. He grabbed the bat that was clinging to his face, ripped it off, and threw it to the ground in disgust. They were everywhere, swarming.

“Up the hill!” commanded Soraya.

Line bent low to the ground and focused on covering his face. Somehow he still remembered to keep climbing. All four of them sprinted, jostling each other as they fought back against the attack. The bats were so densely packed, it seemed as if they were interconnected—one giant, writhing, living
thing. The sound of their wings filled the air. And then they were at the tree line and back into the forest. The bats stayed in the open area, circling in a thick cloud.

They paused for a second to regroup. Behind them, the rising chorus of shrieks was drawing nearer. Soraya led them into a stand of pine trees. The ground, which was soft and covered with pine needles, absorbed much of the surrounding noise. They ran for a short while until Soraya came to an abrupt stop and bent down to the ground.

Half a minute later, she grunted in satisfaction, tore at a thick layer of pine needles, and hoisted up an armful of branches caked with mud. It looked like a large bird's nest that had been flattened. When Soraya lifted the branches off the ground, they heard the sound of rapidly flowing water.

Line knelt down next to Soraya and felt the outline of a small sinkhole. He stuck his arm in and felt the earthen walls.

“What's down there?”

“A river,” replied Soraya. She stood up. “Can all of you swim?”

“You mean for us to—” began Marin.

“We'll never make it through the woods,” she said. “But there is another way.” She paused and easily ripped a large branch off a nearby tree. “Quickly now—come here.”

They moved toward Soraya. Marin tripped in the darkness, but Kana caught her. Soraya hissed at her. “
Quiet.
Someone's coming.”

Then a deep, gravelly voice spoke—from behind them.

“
Soraya
.”

Marin and Line turned toward the voice but saw nothing. It didn't matter. They knew who it was—the creature from the canyon. They couldn't see him, but the sound of his voice was unmistakable.

“Stay where you are!” yelled Soraya. As she said this, she began pulling Line, Kana, and Marin backward—ever closer to the sinkhole. She then raised the branch that she had ripped off the tree and brandished it menacingly. The jagged end resembled a bayonet.

“Put that down,” said the creature in a calm, almost bored fashion. He took a step closer, into a shaft of moonlight that illuminated his body. He was over seven feet tall, with the same features as Soraya—the elongated ears, narrow face, and large eyes. However, his face and throat looked tight, as if the skin had been pulled back across his skull. And this was precisely the case. A tiny dark bud protruded from the top of the creature's head—it was a tuft of his own skin, tied off with coarse twine. His eyes, which were entirely black, were fixed on Kana.

“So, this is the boy . . . ,” said the creature, eyeing Kana appraisingly. “Soraya, do you really think that you showed this child mercy by allowing him to live?”

“Father!” said Soraya. Her hand tentatively folded around Kana's arm. “This child is—”

“Yes, I
know
who he is,” whispered the creature. Then, from behind his back, he brandished the glittering battle-ax with the two-foot-long cutting edge—the one from the mayor's house.

“Soraya, this isn't my doing,” continued the creature. “It's yours.”

Soraya eyed the ax and then her father. “No,” she whispered. “Don't.”

“Then you do it!” snapped her father.

Marin sucked in a breath of air.

“It's okay,” Kana whispered. “It'll be okay.”

“All right,” said Soraya. She dropped her stick, stepped forward, and extended her arms. The creatures looked at each other for several seconds. Clearly, he didn't know whether to trust her. But then he came to a decision, nodded solemnly, and handed her the massive battle-ax. Soraya took the weapon, ran her fingers along its blade, and turned to face Kana.

Kana stiffened. Marin tried to move between them, but Kana pushed her back. There was no point. He was done running. In a way, he knew that this moment was coming all along—from the very first time that Soraya had visited him in his room, weeks before. In fact, he suspected it might end like this: deep in the woods, in the darkness, at Night, with his sister at his side. And he was strangely at peace with it. Soraya and her father were right. He didn't belong anywhere—and he never would. The inevitability and certainty of it all washed over him and deadened his sense of fear.

Kana looked directly into Soraya's eyes. “Help Marin and Line get to the sea,” he whispered.
“Please.”

Soraya took a step closer and raised the battle-ax high over her shoulder. Then there was a quick whir of movement, followed by a loud crack. Soraya had spun around and swung the battle-ax at her father. He managed to avoid the blow, and the battle-ax glanced off a nearby tree and clattered to the ground.
Her father recovered quickly, but not before Soraya had pulled Kana, Line, and Marin toward her.

“Hold your breath!” she commanded. She wrapped her arms around them and fell backward into the sinkhole. Together they plummeted through the void: emptiness, rushing wind, and the cold, dark shock.