Nightfall (29 page)

Kana plunged into the water and hung there, several feet below the surface, until finally he popped up, gasping for air. He panicked, swallowed water, and flailed about. The river's current whisked him through a roaring void of blackness. The numbingly cold water deadened his senses, making his legs heavy and useless. Time seemed to stop. He lost track of where he was and his thoughts faded to a flicker.

Then he saw a faint glow in the distance and a silhouette. Someone gesturing to him. He floated toward the person rapidly, which was an indication of the power of the current. A muffled voice called out. It was Soraya.

She grabbed Kana, clasped him by the shoulders, and yanked him out of the water. There was just enough light to make out Soraya's features. Her eyes were eerily still and calm, as always, but her voice betrayed a hint of anxiety.

“Prepare the boat!” she ordered. “I'll get your friends.”

Kana rose to his feet, teeth chattering, and moved toward the mouth of the cave. For the first time in days, he felt cold. Behind him, Kana could hear her pulling Marin and Line out of
the water. Kana knew he should turn his attention to the boat, yet precious seconds passed and he just stood there, staring at the cave paintings in front of him—the swirls of blue and green paint forming vivid depictions of the sea and the forest. His father had made these.

My father.

Kana didn't know his father's name. He knew only that he had lived here and had painted on these walls.

And what of my mother?

Kana knew the truth, and still, it was hard to fully grasp it.

Moments later, Soraya appeared with Marin and Line in tow.

“What are you doing?” demanded Soraya.

Kana held up his hand, a gesture for patience. “I know we have to leave,” he said.

Somehow, Soraya understood.

“There's the boat,” she told Marin and Line brusquely, pointing in the direction of the smooth wooden hull. “Drag it outside and get it ready by the river.”

Line nodded and left, but Marin stayed. Her face was terribly bruised, but her eyes were the same as ever—fierce and determined.

“Kana, I'm not leaving you here,” she said. “You are coming off this island with us.”

Kana looked at the ground. “Marin, go to the boat—please.”

“Promise you're coming with us,” said Marin. She took his hand.
“Promise me.”

Kana felt her cold fingertips and the warmth of her palm. “I need to speak with Soraya,” he whispered. “Please.”

“All right,” Marin replied. She left to help Line with the boat.

Soraya faced Kana and leaned in toward him. “You need to leave,” she said. “He will be here soon. And others will follow. He didn't jump in right away—he doesn't like the water—but he'll swim after us when he realizes he has no other choice.”

Kana nodded. His eyes were drawn to the furrier boats painted on the wall. “How did he die—my father?” His voice wavered.

“It's not what you think,” replied Soraya with a shake of her head. “He was older when he came, and something was wrong with his heart.”

“I feel like I have memories of this place,” said Kana quietly, almost to himself.

“I understand,” replied Soraya.

Kana nodded and looked down.
Of course she does. She was here, too.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“I was young,” she replied softly. “And I was scared. By the time that you were born, your father had died. By then it was almost Dawn. I knew what was expected . . . But I could not . . . I left you on that rock instead.”

Kana looked past Soraya, at the painting of two figures staring down at something. That something was a baby—him.

“I regret many things,” said Soraya. She reached to touch Kana's cheek. It was tentative and soft. “But there was no taking you back to this cave. They would have killed you.”

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?” he asked with a trace of anger. “We could've . . .”

“We could have done nothing,” she replied. “There is no life for us together, just as there was no life for me with your father. Just a few moments.” She breathed heavily. “Now only one thing matters . . .”

Behind them, from the darkness, they heard the faintest splashing sound.

“Go now,” said Soraya. Her body stiffened and her voice became intense, almost guttural. “He's coming.”

“Come with us,” pleaded Kana.

Soraya shook her head. “Impossible.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the cave opening. Tentatively, she placed her long fingers across his shoulders. Touching him like this seemed to affect her in a profound way. Her eyes glimmered for a moment—as if briefly coming to life—and then she staggered as if she'd lost her balance.

“Take the river downstream,” she continued. She leaned into Kana and breathed his scent.

“Kana—do not go ashore. The woods along the river are waking.”

Kana couldn't move.

There was a second splash and then a third. The air in the cave grew pinched and close.

Soraya touched two fingers to his forehead. They lingered there for a second. Then she spun around and retreated into the darkness of the cave. Kana ran down to the water, where Marin and Line were waiting for him. They had the boat in the river and were already sitting in it, Line at the stern, Marin in the middle of the boat. Kana hopped in at the bow.

“Where is she?” asked Marin.

“Just go,” said Kana. His voice cracked, and Marin could tell he was crying.

Line and Marin both hesitated.

“GO!”
Kana yelled.

Line nodded. With a powerful thrust, he dug his oar into the riverbed and shoved off, guiding the boat into the fast-moving current of the Coil. The river took hold of the boat quickly, pushing it downstream, beneath a thick canopy of trees and into the inky blackness beyond. Kana tried in vain to catch a last glimpse of the cave, but it had vanished.

Line sat in the stern of the boat, shaking with cold, his good hand on the well-polished tiller. Sleet battered him, and at times he could barely see the rest of the boat, much less guide it down the river. His fever had subsided, thanks to the lekar that Marin continued to give him, but his wound still ached. It felt good to be at the helm of a boat—it gave him a sense of confidence and purpose.

“Kana!” he yelled. “Get to the edge of the bow—we need your eyes.”

Kana leaned over the edge and immediately called out a warning: “Two rocks off starboard bow!”

Line cranked the rudder violently and the boat lurched to port. The hull scraped the rocks, then slid.

“There's a sharp turn to port ahead,” said Kana. “I'll tell you when.”

“How far?”

“Five boat lengths!” He paused. “Four lengths, three lengths, two lengths. Now!”

The boat turned and continued downstream. With Kana
guiding him, Line navigated through several more rapids. Meanwhile, Marin used her oar to shove floating branches out of the way. Rocks thumped against the hull, but the boat was ruggedly built. The Coil deepened and the trees crept closer to the water's edge. Then the river narrowed a little more, forcing Line to maneuver the boat sharply. Kana glanced back at Line and Marin.

“We're fine,” said Line in a terse voice. “Just keep telling me where to turn.”

They cleared another bend and Kana let out a shout. Just ahead, a massive tree had fallen across the river, leaving an opening only a few feet high for them to squeeze under. A curtain of moss, glistening with ice, draped across the gap and extended down to the water.

“Slow down!” Kana ordered. “Hard to starboard—get over and hug the far bank!”

Line threw the rudder into position, but it wasn't nearly enough. Seconds later, the boat careened headlong into the tangle of moss. At their angle and speed, the impact spun the boat sideways. It stopped perpendicular to the current. Water began crashing over the gunnels.

“We're stuck!” yelled Kana. “Hold on!”

Marin and Kana tore at the moss, but within seconds, the force of the water against the boat had pushed them through. It looked like they were free, but then they heard a great cracking sound overhead, followed by an explosion that shot a geyser of water into the boat. The tree had been rotten inside, and the impact of the boat had caused it to weaken and crash into
the water, narrowly missing them. Just then, something small bit Kana on the neck. Then it happened again.

“They're dropping everywhere!” Kana shouted, swatting at his neck.

“What's dropping?” demanded Line. His question was answered when he felt something land in his hair and wriggle furiously. He pulled out a caterpillar-like insect that had jagged ice crystals embedded in its fur. It rose up in his palm and thrust a curved pincer deep into his thumb. Line yelped and the thumb blossomed in sharp pain. Soon he was being stung all over.

Line forced himself to keep hold of the rudder, ignoring the stinging along his scalp and arms. He felt the current grab and spin the boat, careening it toward the opposite bank, where the branches of a fallen tree were sticking out like spikes.

“Kana!” Line yelled. “Behind you!”

An instant after Kana saw the sharp branches looming, something threw him to the bottom of the boat. Line had grabbed both Kana and Marin and yanked them down with him. Seconds later, the boat spun around again, although this time they were pushed downstream. Line scrambled back to the rudder.

A rising swell of noise filled the forest. It was a deep, bass pounding, as if drums were being played all around them. The trees beyond the cover of shoreline vegetation began to sway. Kana recalled Soraya's final warning:
The woods along the river are waking.

“We have to flip the boat!” said Kana.

“WHAT?” shouted Marin. She stared at Kana as if he were insane. “We'll freeze to death.”

The thrumming continued to rise from the riverbanks, as if the entire forest was converging on them.

“We don't have a choice,” Kana yelled. “We have to get under the hull—it's our only protection.”

Dark objects began whizzing past. The sounds of the forest rose from every direction.

“Lean to starboard!” yelled Kana.

Together, they lurched to starboard. The port gunwale rose up out of the water, wobbled precariously for a moment or two, and then flipped. Marin, Line, and Kana plunged into the water. Moments later, they resurfaced, grabbed for the hull of the boat, and hid underneath.

“W-where are you?” Marin sobbed. The cold was deadening her senses. “I can't see anything.”

“Here,” shouted Line. “KANA?”

“HERE!”

“Grab the wooden slats and hold,” Line ordered. “Hold on tight.”

On the other side of the hull, they could hear the sounds of bodies—large and small—thudding against the hull. The onslaught continued over the course of several minutes; it sounded, at times, as if it was being pelted with stones. They clung tightly to the boat, their arm muscles frozen into position.

It was hard to gauge time, but eventually Line realized that the outside world had grown quiet and the boat was no longer being bombarded. And then his feet began to drag along the
river bottom. It was running shallow. A jolt of water splashed onto his lips, and it no longer tasted like freshwater.

“It's brackish,” he called out. “We're probably near the old seabed. Marin, Kana—hold on a little longer. We're almost out.”

They floated downstream in silence for several more minutes, until the cold numbed Marin's arms so completely that, without warning, she lost her grip and sank down into the water. It happened in an instant, and it took Line several seconds to realize she had disappeared.

“MARIN!” screamed Line. “Quick, Kana—beach the boat.”

Line let go as well, leaving Kana alone underneath the boat. Kana dug into the riverbed, and slowly, the boat turned. A moment later, he heard the overturned hull grate against rock. Kana swam out from under the boat and looked around. The island was behind them. They were situated on the edge of the Coil as it cut across the old seabed. Line had found Marin about twenty yards upstream and was struggling to get her out of the water. Kana shoved the boat farther onto shore and ran to them.

Marin lay on her back, her arms and legs covered in mud. Her eyes were closed and her face was as pale as the moon. Only the glow from her skin markings seemed alive.

“Marin!” shouted Kana.
“Marin!”

Her lips pursed and shifted, as if she was trying to speak. An arm twitched, then Marin's body began to tremble all over. With great effort, she opened her eyes. Line helped her to a sitting position. He was trembling, too—the cold had seeped into every pore of his skin and sapped away his last reserves of energy.

Kana was far less affected by the cold. Marin and Line huddled on the rocks while snowflakes landed steadily on their hair and shoulders. Then he remembered the flint. It was still there, in his pocket. It took only a few minutes to build a small pile of driftwood and pine needles for kindling. Soon, the sparks and smoke turned to fire. Kana and Line carried Marin as close to the fire as they dared and set her on the ground.

It was risky, building a fire this close to the island, but Marin would die of hypothermia if she didn't get warm. Once the fire was going strong, Kana searched the boat from top to bottom. In a small, inset compartment, he found an empty leather flask and two wool blankets. He draped the blankets around Marin and Line. With the blankets and the fire, they finally stopped shivering. Soon, they were warm enough to proceed. Line made sure to apply more lekar, and afterward, he and Kana pushed the boat back into the water.

They floated downstream through the darkness. There was little work or steering involved. The current would carry them to the sea, and only then would they need to worry about which way to go.

An hour passed and then another. Marin had been huddled on the boat's floor, drifting in and out of sleep, when suddenly she stirred to life with an awareness of something she needed to do. She crept to the bow of the boat, where Kana was perched, looking downstream. He had been studying the river ahead and occasionally warning Line of obstacles in their way.

“Are you all right?” asked Marin. She placed a tentative hand on his knee.

Kana shrugged. His mind had been churning—with thoughts about Soraya, Anton, Tarae, Marin, Line, the sea voyage, life in the Desert Lands, and countless other things. “Honestly,” he said, “I'm not sure how I feel.”

Marin put her hand on his arm. They sat like this, motionless, for a while.

At one point, Kana turned to look at Marin's luminescent markings. The blanket had loosened, baring her arms.

“You did that?” he asked.

Marin nodded, and briefly described the climb up the cliff. Kana leaned in to study her markings. After a moment's reflection, he sat back.

“They suit you,” he said quietly.