by Jake Halpern
“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” asked Francis.
“Okay,” said Line. He was too tired to argue. Francis walked over to Line’s bed and climbed into it. Line crawled in next to him and pulled a huge comforter over them. It was used only in Twilight, when the weather became uncomfortably cold. Francis was quiet, and for a moment, Line wondered if he’d fallen asleep. That hope was dashed when Francis turned and asked, “Did Mother know about the spirits who live here at Night?”
Line paused. Francis did not talk about their mother often.
“Nothing lives here at Night,” Line replied, patting his little brother on the shoulder. “It’s too cold. The island freezes.”
“But the spirits are dead,” persisted Francis. “So it doesn’t matter how cold it gets.”
“There’s no such thing as spirits,” said Line gently. “Adults think that telling kids to get ready before the spirits come will make them pack up quickly. But we live on our own, so we’re kind of adults already and don’t need to play. Understand?” He kissed his brother on the cheek. “Now close your eyes.”
“But I’m not tired.”
Line sighed. “Do you want me to sing?”
“Yes,” said Francis with a yawn.
Line cleared his throat and began to sing “Hand Over Hand,” one of the ballads that old men and women sang as they scaled the island’s cliffs. It was a slow, sad melody—perfect for chanting in rounds, with each climber on a rope singing in intervals. Line sang for a while, then hummed the tune.
Some time later, Line woke with a start. How long have I been asleep? It could have been minutes or hours—he was too disoriented to tell. He stood and walked downstairs. Marin was gone, and the house was in tip-top shape. She had done a great deal of work—the dishes were cleaned, the toys put away, and the tools returned to the shed. Much of the furniture had been moved, too. Marin was incredible.
They had grown up alongside each other, part of a group of children who’d been born at Sunrise. Throughout their early childhood, Marin and Kana had kept to themselves, as twins often do. In fact, one of Line’s earliest memories was watching Marin lead Kana along the cliffs. For years, Line had thought her beautiful—her brown skin, her smile, her confidence, even with the elders. Yet it was Kana whom Line befriended first—the two boys became close around the time that Line’s mother died.
Together, they explored the darkened edges of the forest, where Kana helped Line gather mushrooms and a medicinal plant called lekar. Lekar always fetched a good price at market, but it was hard to find so close to Night, so he mainly sold mushrooms now. This, and a little farming, was how Line supported himself. It was only within the last three months or so that Line and Marin started spending time together—and this, unfortunately, had been the beginning of things souring between Line and Kana, and between Kana and Marin.
Line walked into the kitchen. The old windup clock by the stove read midnight. He had been asleep for hours. Then, on the counter near the food cupboard, he saw a note.
Line,
I thought I’d let you sleep.
The kitchen chairs are in the living room. The coffee table needed to be rotated by a half turn, so it faced the other way. (Insane.) The end table from Francis’s bedroom is in the parlor. I moved the desk by myself. Aren’t you impressed? I also cleaned up your parents’ room. I hope you don’t mind.
There were a few notes on the floor plan that I didn’t understand, like the bit about the RAT, SNOUT, and TEETH. And I couldn’t find the round tables. I’ll bring you some bread tomorrow.
Remember the key. It fits that door in the cellar.
“The key,” said Line aloud. He nodded—fully awake now—and set to work. He grabbed a lit candle from the dining room and proceeded to a door at the back of the kitchen. He opened it, cleared away a thick draping of cobwebs, and headed downstairs to the cellar. The stone walls of the cellar were sweating rivulets of water, which had softened the gravel and dirt floor, making it mucky. Line could feel his shoes sticking to the earth as he walked.
At the far end of the cellar, he found what he was looking for: a sturdy wooden door, bolted and sealed shut with an old warded lock. He’d never seen the door open. His mother had told him it was a storage closet, and he’d never been especially curious about what was inside. The cellar was not a place to spend free time.
Line took the key from his pocket, slid it into the lock, and fumbled around until he was rewarded with a click. He opened the door and revealed two round tables and three large wooden boxes. He walked deeper into the closet and leaned in to examine the boxes more carefully. One of them was marked RAT, a second was marked SNOUT, and the third was marked TEETH.
Line sat back on his heels, intrigued. He hadn’t expected the arrival of the envelopes to lead to a treasure hunt in his own house.
One by one, he brought the boxes to the main floor and arranged them in a row. Line knelt down over the box marked RAT and pulled out a huge animal head, stuffed and mounted on a wooden slab. It looked like a cross between a rat and a storybook mastodon. The head was twice the size than that of a horse, which meant that the body must have been gigantic. Beneath the head was a brass plate emblazoned with ornate cursive letters written in a strange alphabet.
“Wow,” said Line. “You’re an ugly one.” He consulted the floor plan and concluded that RAT was meant to go on the middle peg in the front room. The head fit perfectly. He then walked back across the room and opened the crate marked SNOUT—and removed yet another mounted head. This one had interlocked plates instead of fur, two pointy tusks, and a long snout—almost like an armadillo with an especially big nose. This head hung to the left of RAT. Finally, he opened the box marked TEETH and pulled out a third mounted head. It was almost identical to SNOUT, except for a set of long, jagged fangs.
“What are you?” asked Line quietly, as if he half expected the head to answer his question. “And where in God’s name did you come from?”
There’d always been stories that wild boars—and animals even fiercer and more primordial—lurked in the depths of the island’s forests. Line never entirely believed such tales, but he never totally discounted them, either. It was a large island, and very few people left the immediate vicinity of town and the coastline.
Line consulted the floor plan again, placed TEETH on the wall, and returned the wooden boxes to the basement. He then moved the two round tables into the front room. Finally, he opened the small paper bag of lime and sprinkled it as he walked around, giving the entire dwelling the air of a disinfected outhouse.
When he was done, he stopped to stare into the lifeless eyes of RAT, SNOUT, and TEETH, wondering what the purpose of hanging these grotesque animals on the walls could possibly be. It was pointless—absurd. What will I tell Francis at breakfast?
Line glanced at the small grandfather clock in the corner. It was an hour past midnight. Francis would be asleep for the next six hours. His little brother was the soundest sleeper that Line had ever encountered, and this was a good thing. Line wanted to make a quick trip to the edge of the woods to collect mushrooms for trading. And he knew of a spot that might still have some lekar, though that was probably too much to hope for.
He reread Marin’s letter. She’d even cleaned his parents’ room—knowing that it had to be done, and that he was reluctant to do it. Marin saw a problem, and she attacked it. They were a good team. But everything would change in the Desert Lands. Line knew this because Marin’s mother had pulled him aside recently and said exactly that. She hadn’t been unkind about it, just matter-of-fact: This is the way it must be—she will spend time with other girls her age. In seclusion. And after that, she will be busy with many other things. Tarae had lingered on those last words as she looked at Line. Her message was clear: the relationship between Marin and Line would come to an end when they left Bliss.
Line never told Marin about this co
nversation. Maybe she already knew. All this filled Line with a sense of immediacy—the next day, or two, perhaps, was all that he and Marin had.
He stood up straight and looked again at Marin’s letter. If he went quickly, there was something he could do for her. He’d been thinking about this for weeks but hadn’t found the time. It wouldn’t take long, and he’d be back before Francis awoke. He grabbed a thick wool sweater and rushed out of the farmhouse.
CHAPTER 6
After a restless sleep, Marin woke early and delivered a loaf of bread to Line’s house. She came while the town was still largely asleep and placed the warm parcel at the front door. Marin had already been up for several hours, baking the dark, tough bread—known as sheet iron or tooth dullers—which would be their staple for the long journey to the Desert Lands. The main ingredient was fall wheat, a slender, reedy grain that grew reluctantly in the dimming light of the last year. For those who remembered the hearty summer wheat of years past, it was a poor substitute. Still, Line and Francis probably wouldn’t care, especially since the loaf was still warm. Marin walked away, smiling at the memory of the three of them eating together last night. It might be a long while before she spent time with them like that again. Soon she would be in the Cloister. What then? Will Line wait for me—for a full year? And wait for what?
On the way home, Marin trailed along the cliffs, pausing for a moment to take in the view. The island and surrounding water were gripped in shadow. Angry gray-black clouds roiled above, while only a thin sliver of orange peeked on the horizon.
Marin looked up the shoreline to where the island began to curve inward. Standing here, she felt as if the island were a massive ship plowing through the sea. No matter how terrible the storm, waves would beat themselves into nothingness against the cliff wall.
It was strange to think that the people from Bliss had lived here for only a few generations—just over a hundred and fifty years. Before discovering the island, they sailed the Polar Sea following fishing stocks, as weather and the currents permitted. Then they landed on the island and found a beautiful storybook town, perfectly intact and completely uninhabited. After much prayer and argument, a decision was made. To the sounds of deep bass-toned drums, the oldest person carried a newborn baby into Deep Well House. There they stayed for twenty-four hours, hoping that the house did not contain some trap or curse that would kill them. Eventually, the old lady emerged triumphantly carrying the exhausted baby, and everyone moved into the town.
As a child, Marin loved to hear every detail of this story, and she eagerly looked forward to its retelling during the Pageant of Life and Death. But over the years, she’d grown dubious of the history. She’d recently overheard an uncle repeating the story to one of her younger cousins, and asked him afterward if he really believed it.
“Of course I believe it,” replied her uncle with a smile. They were sitting in the parlor of Shadow House and he was sipping his ale contentedly. “Don’t you?”
“It makes no sense,” Marin had said. “Why were all of these houses in perfect condition?”
“It was our destiny to come here,” replied her uncle, setting down his ale and leaning in. “This island was a divine gift, and you do not question such gifts. You accept them and humbly express your gratitude.” Marin merely shook her head—as she always did when the adults spoke of destiny, and gifts, and unquestioning acceptance. There had to be a better explanation—a fight, a battle, maybe even a plague—but clearly this town had been inhabited, right up until the moment her people had arrived. And the former residents had been scared off, run off, or killed off. She glanced back at the town. No one would abandon such a perfect place without cause. Marin felt certain of this.
For several seconds, she stared at the water and felt the bracing wind curl around her face. Then something in the distance caught Marin’s eye. To the left of the disappearing sun, dipping between each curling wave, was a boat. Her heart sank. Only one? Impossible. They needed more than that to evacuate the whole town. Moments later, a few more boats came into view, sailing in tight formation. The clippers that would transport them sailed in the middle, surrounded by sleeker, two-hulled vessels. All the sails were yellow. It was the furriers, no doubt about it. They were right on time, coming with the tide. The furriers were mercenary nomads of the sea who hunted in the Polar North, accumulating furs, then sailed to the Desert Lands to sell their stock. Furs were prized, even in the Desert Lands, where it grew cold when the sun fell. Along the way, the furriers picked up passengers from the northern islands—for a price.
Marin turned and ran back toward town. Was she the first to spot the ships? She hoped so. It’d be nice to show the okrana how easily a teenage girl could best them at their own job. She followed the old wagon trail back to town, jogging and then running. At a certain point, she was sprinting flat out, and almost crashed into someone heading toward her. She tripped and came to a stop in a cloud of dust.
“What is it, child?” asked the person she’d almost collided with. He was a portly man in a blood-smeared smock—Bliss’s fishmonger. He’d seen Marin running and come out from behind his carving table to meet her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“The furrier boats,” said Marin as she struggled to catch her breath. “They’re here.”
“How many?” barked the fishmonger, as if he were annoyed that she had failed to specify an exact number.
“Half a dozen,” said Marin. “I—I don’t know. I didn’t count.”
“Half a dozen!” he replied. He bit his lip and ran a hand through his matted brown hair. “By God, I hope there are more than that. Otherwise, we’ll have riots—families against families, brother against brother. It has happened before.”
Marin stared at him, unnerved by the fear on the fishmonger’s face.
“What do we do?” she asked.
The fishmonger didn’t seem to hear her. So she took a step closer and asked again, almost shouting this time.
The fishmonger looked at the ocean and squinted. “Get home and tell your people,” he ordered. He turned abruptly and headed into town, leaving his fish to the flies.
CHAPTER 7
Marin sprinted up a winding dirt road toward the woods. Her house was about a mile from town, and stood alongside a cold, fast-running stream. It was a grand old mansion called Shadow House, named for its proximity to the forest. Because of their age, the trees in this section of the woods had massive trunks and stretched several hundred feet tall. Over the course of Marin’s childhood, as the sun arched across the sky and sank toward the sea, the shadows from these trees had lengthened, like the fingernails on an old man who had lost his clippers. Within the last several months, the shadows had crept faster, nearly erasing Marin’s house from the landscape—as if blotting it out in a pool of black ink. This close to the woods, the shadows of the trees were so thick and overlapping that Marin wouldn’t have been able to find her house at all if her mother hadn’t placed candles in the windows.
As she approached the front door, Marin heard a steady clanking, like someone banging two pieces of steel together. She squinted through the darkness and saw her father kneeling by the front door, banging away with a small hammer. The door was a huge oval-shaped slab of oak, crisscrossed with a latticework of blackened metal. Her father was hammering with great concentration at an ornately engraved copper keyhole below the doorknob.
“It won’t come off?” asked Marin. She breathed deeply and tried to catch her breath.
Marin’s father was so startled that he dropped his hammer. Anton was a stonemason by trade and he looked the part, with broad shoulders, bulging forearms, and perpetual dust in his light brown hair. He wore heavily patched workman’s coveralls and a long-sleeved muslin shirt. The only sign of softness was in his dark blue-green eyes, which were unmistakably kind.
“Marin,” said her father with a shake of his head. “You scared the wits out of me
. It’s not wise to sneak up on people like that—especially these days.”
She leaned over to peer at the keyhole. “Is it rusted shut?”
“Afraid so,” replied Anton. “The other locks came off without any trouble, but this one is stuck.”
“I still don’t see the sense in it—taking off the locks,” she replied.
Anton leaned back onto his heels and stared at her. It was clear that she’d run home and had something to tell him. He smiled expectantly, bringing dimples to each cheek.
“I walked home along the cliffs.” She paused for a moment, savoring the news she was about to deliver. “I saw the boats—they’re here.”
Anton nodded slowly. “How many?”
“Half a dozen.”
Her father frowned and stood up. “Half a dozen,” he repeated.
“Is that enough?” she asked.
Anton deliberated the question for several seconds. “I suspect more are on the way,” he said finally. “Overall, the furriers always come with enough. There have been exceptions, but not in recent times . . .” He picked up the hammer with one hand and ran his thick fingers through his hair with the other. “We’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Although his voice was confident, he still looked uncertain. “Go on, hurry along and tell your mother.” Anton opened the door to let Marin in, and turned back to the lock. “She’s looking for you,” he said, then began to hammer loudly.
Upon entering the foyer, Marin heard her mother’s footsteps before she actually saw her. The footsteps were hurried, frantic, as if she were nearly running. Her mother was frenzied with the prospect of moving.
As far as Marin could tell, Tarae had been eager to leave the island ever since arriving fourteen years ago. “I came here because of love,” she was fond of telling her children. “Your father was so charming and so handsome that he lured me to this rock in the Polar Sea.” Anton was a native of the island, and had met Tarae during his last stay in the desert. They had married and Tarae had agreed to follow him north, but it had never been an entirely happy arrangement. Now, on the eve of their journey to the south, Tarae was unable to contain her excitement.