Nightfall

by Jake Halpern

  CHAPTER 10

  The leader of the okrana, a man named Ivo, stood in the doorway. Or, more accurately, he dominated the doorway. His shoulders were so wide that they left only a few inches of space on either side. Marin recoiled. She’d always found him menacing. As a little girl, she remembered staring at the pockmarks along his chin and throat, wondering why his face was so badly scarred.

  At the moment, Ivo was deep in conversation with Anton, who was a full head shorter. It took several seconds before Ivo realized that Marin was there. When he did, he stared at her probingly.

  “Is this her?” Ivo asked. His black wool sweater was caked with mud and torn at the elbows.

  “Yes,” replied Anton, placing an arm protectively around his daughter’s shoulders. “This is my daughter, Marin.”

  “I will ask her a few questions.”

  “Of course.” Anton sounded amenable enough, but he was studying Ivo intensely.

  Ivo cleared his throat. “Alone—if you please.”

  Marin’s father frowned, but he clearly couldn’t think of a suitable reason to object. He glanced inside and saw Tarae waiting in the foyer, biting a fingernail.

  “It won’t take long,” said Ivo.

  Marin walked past her father, shrugged at him as if this were a perfectly normal situation, and then closed the front door behind her. She stood alone on the doorstep with Ivo. In the distance, more okrana with wick torches waited by the edge of the woods.

  “You know that the ships have arrived?” asked Ivo.

  “Yes, I saw them.” Marin shivered. It was no longer possible to be outside without a sweater, and she had left hers inside.

  “So you know that we are pressed for time,” he said.

  Marin nodded.

  Ivo stared flatly into her eyes. “I am glad you understand.” He paused. “There is a problem. Quite serious.”

  “What is it?”

  “A boy has gone missing,” said Ivo. “He disappeared, probably within the last twelve hours.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes,” said Ivo. He looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m sorry,” said Marin. “But I don’t see how . . . I mean what does this have to do with me?”

  “You know the boy.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Line.”

  Marin took a step back. She felt a cry building in her chest, but quickly suppressed it. Where could he be?

  “You do know him—correct?” asked Ivo.

  Marin nodded.

  “How?”

  “He’s my friend,” she replied. Her voice felt pinched, as if someone were taking her vocal cords and squeezing them.

  “More than a friend, yes?” pressed Ivo.

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. “Does it matter?”

  “If I am asking, it matters.”

  “M-more than a friend,” she stammered.

  Ivo nodded with satisfaction. “When did you see him last?”

  “Yesterday,” she quickly replied, thinking that the speed of her response might prevent follow-up questions.

  Ivo leaned closer. He had a strong, almost animal-like scent. “When yesterday—what time?”

  “Just before midnight, I guess.” Marin imagined her mother’s shocked face.

  “Don’t guess,” snapped Ivo. “Be certain.”

  “A quarter to midnight.”

  Ivo nodded and rubbed a hand across his chin.

  “What were you doing at his house?”

  Marin forced herself to hold his gaze. “The envelopes came. I was helping him get ready. He put his brother to bed and fell asleep. I was downstairs, cleaning, and let myself out.”

  “Was anybody else with you?”

  “No,” said Marin in a low voice. She heard her parents whispering behind the door, but neither intervened.

  “Did Line mention plans to go anywhere?” Ivo asked.

  She paused, recalling more of their conversation. “He did mention something about gathering mushrooms in the woods, maybe searching for lekar.”

  Ivo glanced at an old brass timepiece that hung from a chain attached to his jacket pocket. “It’s now three in the afternoon,” he announced. He paused to clear his throat and spit on the ground. “The boy’s brother showed up at the neighbor’s house upon waking and reported him missing. That was over seven hours ago. Do you believe he is still picking mushrooms?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Marin tentatively. She felt sick to her stomach. What the hell was Line thinking—running off now? “I doubt it.”

  “Did he seem upset? Angry?”

  Marin shook her head.

  “Is there anything else you’re not telling me—anything at all?”

  “No,” she replied.

  Ivo took a step closer. He was so close that, when she looked up at him, she could see the stubble growing along the many tiny indentations on his pockmarked face. “There is precious little time left to find this boy. And if we leave without him, may God help him and may God have mercy on our wretched souls.” His voice became a snarl. “Now think hard, girl. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

  Marin struggled to remain calm. She did not want to break down in front of this man.

  “I don’t know where he is,” said Marin. “I don’t.”

  Ivo glared at her for several seconds, then stalked into the darkness. Marin watched as the distant torches of the okrana moved along the edge of the forest.

  The door opened. “What did they want?” demanded Tarae. Anton stood just behind her. Marin could tell that they had both overheard everything.

  “It’s Line,” said Marin. Her body was beginning to shake. “He’s missing. They thought I might know where he was.”

  “Do you?” asked Tarae. She moved in closer, forcing Marin to meet her eyes.

  Marin shook her head. “No.” But her mind was less certain—Do I know where he is? Random conversations with Line began floating through her mind. Was she overlooking some clue, some suggestion?

  “Are you sure?” her mother asked. “Think, child. Nightfall is here, and instead of preparing, you’re spending time with that boy. In his house—alone!”

  “All right, all right,” said Anton, stepping between them. “There is time later to discuss these matters. On the boats. For now, I will check on Line’s brother.” He addressed Marin in a voice that brooked no opposition. “Stay here. Help your mother and Kana finish our packing. Understand?”

  Marin nodded.

  Tarae took Marin’s arm and, in a calmer voice, said, “Come along. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  “I should go look for Line,” said Marin. She pressed her fingernails into her palms, fighting to keep her panic under control.

  “No,” said her mother firmly. “The okrana will find Line. In the meantime, there’s still work to be done. I need you and Kana to return a box to Deep Well.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Twenty minutes later, Kana and Marin were pushing a small wheelbarrow through the darkness. Inside the wheelbarrow sat a wooden crate they were bringing to the mayor’s house, known as Deep Well. The box was old, dusty, and quite heavy. For some reason the mayor had been storing the box at their house.

  It was less than a quarter of a mile to Deep Well, but it was slow going. The path skirted the edge of the forest, where shadows formed interlocking pools of darkness. In the distance, where the cliffs dropped off into the sea, the sky still brimmed with a faint glow. But here, Night had already arrived. This was the route Kana took home from school. He favored it precisely because it was so near to the woods.

  No one else went that way. Most people in town feared the forest. Kana didn’t, but he never felt at ease there, either. During the years of Day, the forest was unnerving because it was still—like the profound silence at the b
ottom of a well. Even the wind seemed to die at its edge. It was so quiet that any sudden noise—like a snapping branch—reverberated like gunshot.

  The forest was different now. Strange, undefined noises had become common. People said that wild boars were stirring, emerging from their lairs deep in the woods. Even more reason, said the okrana, to stay away from the woods while preparing to depart.

  As they neared the mayor’s house, Kana finally broke the silence.

  “Marin, why didn’t you tell the okrana about our trip into the woods?”

  Marin frowned. “What does that have to do with Line?”

  Kana slowed his pace for a moment, gestured for Marin to back away, and then carefully navigated the wheelbarrow around a sizable rock.

  “Because he was looking for clues,” said Kana as they continued pushing the wheelbarrow down the path. “You could have told Ivo about our trip. You could’ve told him going in was my fault. I mean, it was my idea.”

  Several months earlier, Kana, Marin, and Line had taken a forbidden trip into the woods. There were trails, but they were not mapped, and they tended to wind and fork in dizzying patterns. Kana, however, had overheard two older okrana talking about a trail that led to a canyon and a real freshwater pond. They said the trail began close to the old hermit’s cottage—three rights, then two lefts.

  Unfortunately, the plan went wrong from the outset, starting when Line invited Marin to tag along. This irked Kana, but it didn’t surprise him, not really. In the weeks leading up to this excursion, Line had repeatedly stopped by Shadow House for one reason or another, just to say hello or ask a question. It was always designed to seem spontaneous, and it inevitably ended with Line and Marin chatting. It was all quite obvious and rather annoying.

  On the day of the expedition, when Line showed up—with Marin in tow—Kana decided to play it casual, as if the three of them going had been the plan all along. So they followed the okrana’s directions—three rights, then two lefts—which got them precisely nowhere. But they pressed on in a northerly direction, and in time, they came upon the pond.

  The pond was set at the edge of a great clearing. Nearby was a dark, gaping canyon that cut through the clearing’s center—giving the place an ominous feel. The ground here was made of soft white stone, almost like chalk. At that time, the sun had already dropped below the treetops, but the white stone was so iridescent that it seemed to glow. As soon as Kana entered the clearing, he was nearly blinded by the radiant stones. He squinted and looked around for Marin.

  “Here,” said Marin. “Take my hand.” Kana hesitated, as if embarrassed to be guided like a child in front of his friend, but Line didn’t seem to notice, and they made their way together to the edge of the pond. The water was crystal clear and much warmer than the ocean. For the next hour or so, Marin and Line frolicked in the pond, jumping off rocks and doing swan dives and cannonballs into their own private watering hole. Kana could barely see, so he lay down on a long, flat rock by the shore and closed his eyes.

  “I think we should explore a little,” said Line after they’d been swimming for a while.

  “We shouldn’t leave Kana on his own,” said Marin with a sigh. “He can’t see a thing.”

  “He’ll be fine,” said Line. He eyed Kana, who seemed to be sleeping. “He doesn’t need babysitting.”

  “Actually, he does,” said Marin. Her voice wasn’t unkind, just neutral, as if she was stating a simple fact. “He’s pretty helpless in bright light,” she said. “And that’s the way it’s going to be in the Desert Lands, too.”

  At that, Kana sat up, wearing a look of barely controlled anger. “Don’t mind me,” he said tightly. “I don’t want to burden anyone.” Then he stood up, spun around, and set off into the clearing—half stumbling as he went.

  Marin kept calling to him, but Kana pressed onward as if he didn’t hear her. It was Line’s shouting that finally got through.

  “Stop!” screamed Line. “The canyon!” But it was too late. Kana had taken a final step and stumbled on a rock outcropping at the top of the precipice. Then he tumbled down, slamming into rocks as he went, until he landed on a narrow ledge about ten feet down that stopped his fall. It all happened so quickly that it took Kana a moment to realize that he was hurt. His body was bruised, his hands were lacerated, but the real damage was on his right cheek, where a rock had sliced him open like a knife blade. Blood gushed from his face. It was a miracle that Kana hadn’t fallen to his death.

  Later on, Marin sobbed and said how sorry she was. “You misunderstood me,” she said again and again. “I was just trying to make Line realize what it was like for you.” Later on, Marin said a lot of things. But these were just words. The simple fact of the matter was that Marin felt sorry for him, and thought Line should, too. There was no pretending it wasn’t true. Nor was there any erasing the scar that now marked Kana’s face.

  This incident was still fresh in Kana’s mind as he and Marin made their way to Deep Well. The scar was a painful daily reminder of what had happened. Still, Kana refused to discuss it any further with Marin—and he had simply lied to their parents about it, claiming that he had fallen from a tree. But it was obvious, even to Anton and Tarae, that a rift had grown between the twins. “I don’t know what happened,” Tarae had said to them more than once. “But you need to move past it.” Marin would then look at Kana imploringly, and he would look away, as if they were both performing well-rehearsed parts in a play.

  After several minutes of walking along the path to the mayor’s house, Marin finally responded to her brother’s question. “I didn’t tell Ivo because there was no point,” she said. “We’d get in trouble, and more important, what good would it do?”

  Kana looked at her as if she were especially dim-witted. “Has it occurred to you that maybe Line went back?”

  Marin stared at him, equally astonished. “Back to the pond—why?”

  Kana pointed a finger at her neck.

  “My necklace?” she replied. She paused to consider this possibility, and the wheelbarrow clattered to a stop. The necklace. She’d lost it at the edge of the pond. It had happened in the haste and confusion after Kana had fallen into the canyon. Might Line have gone back for it? The thought had never even occurred to her. It was ridiculous. Line wouldn’t do that. Not just before the boats came. “No,” said Marin, shaking her head and pushing the wheelbarrow back into motion. “Absolutely not. He wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

  Yet, at the very moment she said this, doubt entered her mind. “Kana—would Line go back for my necklace?”

  Kana thought carefully. “Probably not,” he concluded. “At least, not anymore. Not with Francis depending on him.”

  Marin nodded, relieved. “The okrana will find him.”

  Just then, they turned a bend in the path and Deep Well came into view.

  CHAPTER 12

  Deep Well was built on a hill and surrounded by an array of impressive trees. There was a northern ash, a ginkgo, and several enormous firs. The centerpiece was a gnarled, ancient-looking wick tree whose vines were used to make torches. Wick lit easily and lasted for several hours—the okrana swore by it. Now the tree was picked clean, like everything else around Bliss.

  The house itself was a sprawling structure with inset circular windows and a moss-covered slate roof that had a thick tower rising from its center. At the top of the tower was a widow’s walk encased in glass and a powerful signal lamp. For the last several years, with the sun low in the sky, this lamp had remained lit so the town’s fishermen could find their way home. Once the furriers arrived, the light had been extinguished, another sign that the hour of departure was near.

  The house shimmered in the dying sunlight because the stones used to build it were speckled with minerals. The front door, which was covered by a thin layer of cork, served as the town’s message board. It had been loaded with notes related to the up
coming move: requests for help in moving and cleaning, as well as for supplies, such as extra suitcases and trunks. Now the board was empty—as was most of the house. In truth, the building was more of a banquet hall than a home. The main floor was devoted to the town’s only indoor meeting area, complete with several fireplaces and four enormous wooden tables. The house’s sole inhabitant was Bliss’s aging mayor, who lived in an apartment on the second floor.

  “Come in, come in,” beckoned the mayor, a small bald man wrapped in several layers of pale blue silks. “I almost gave up on you. It wouldn’t do to be late for our departure!”

  Marin and Kana set down the wheelbarrow, picked up the crate, and set it down in the large main room. The woodwork here was astounding. Artisans had carved thousands of designs across the walls, including trees, vines, mountains, clouds, and rivers. At the very top of the room, built into the ceiling, was a cupola with four large windows that—in sunnier times—allowed light into the room. The surfaces of the wooden tables had recently been waxed, and they shone in the light of the flickering candles. On the nearest table stood a dozen bottles made of greenish glass, sealed with corks and melted wax, and filled with dark liquid.

  The mayor followed their gaze.

  “Those bottles are all that remain of the Noon wine,” he said. “The rest go to the furriers to pay for our passage. When you were smaller, the whole town harvested these grapes in the Noon vineyards. What a wonderful time that was. . . ” His voice trailed off and he smiled.

  “Are you leaving the bottles behind?” asked Marin as she ran her fingers across the cool, dusty glass on the neck of a bottle.

  “Of course not,” said the mayor. He reached out for one and cradled it possessively. “They’re coming with us. We’ll open some on special occasions, but I mean to save at least two for the best day of all—the day we come back home.”

  Marin thought briefly about returning to the island in fourteen years’ time. It seemed impossibly far away. She had more pressing things to worry about. The mayor could see it in her face and he cocked his head sideways, like a bird.