by Jake Halpern
Marin turned away from the pool as Kana approached. His nearby presence set her mind churning again. “What about the signal lamp?”
Kana frowned. “What about it?”
“I think we should light it before we get too comfortable.”
“Really?” he said. He looked around, then sank into a leather couch. “Why should we do that?”
“Because,” said Marin. “If the signal lamp is on, they’ll see it and know to come back for us.”
“Marin—be serious,” said Line, his voice rising from the darkness of the bathtub. “You really think that’s a possibility?”
“Probably not,” admitted Marin. “But we should keep it lit even if there’s the tiniest possibility that someone could see it.”
“No one’s coming back for us,” groaned Line, who was now almost fully submerged in the water.
“What about the note?” asked Kana. “It said to hide. Lighting the signal lamp isn’t exactly hiding.”
“Look,” said Marin. She was getting impatient now. “There’s probably a very narrow window for them to notice that we’re missing and turn around. Maybe just a few hours. It would be stupid not to send a distress signal.”
“We’re not getting rescued,” muttered Line.
Tired from the back-and-forth, Kana sank deeper into the couch and closed his eyes. He needed to shut all of this out for a moment.
Meanwhile, Marin approached the pool and sat down on the floor next to Line’s head. She raised her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Why do you keep saying that they’re not coming back for us?”
Line raised a hand slightly, then let it splash back into the water. “My guess is that they don’t even know we’re missing,” he replied. “You saw how the luggage was left—people probably got separated, shoved onto different boats.” Line opened his eyes and shifted position to look at her. His wet arms glistened in the candlelight. “Eventually they’ll realize, but by then, the tide will be too far out for them to come back—even if they wanted to.”
“Maybe,” said Marin. “But they might realize sooner, so I’m lighting the signal lamp anyway.” She got up and walked over to Kana. “Come on,” she said, poking his shoulder. “I need your help.”
“Maaaarin,” Kana moaned, pushing his head deeper into the pillows.
She poked him again.
Arguing with her was fruitless. “We’ll light the lamp,” he agreed, peeling himself from the couch. “And look for a hammer and nails. If we’re staying here, even for a little while, we need to lock the door.”
Marin nodded somberly. She grabbed a candle and followed her brother. As they walked downstairs, she placed a hand on Kana’s shoulder. The way she looked—so serious and sad—softened Kana’s edginess.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then sighed. “I feel terrible about all this.”
Kana shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said as they headed down the stairs. “It just happened—that’s all.”
CHAPTER 22
Marin and Kana searched the main hall for a staircase that led to the tower. Neither of them had ever actually been in the tower or seen the signal lamp up close, so they had to try every door. They hoped to find tools along the way, but nothing turned up. Eventually they entered the kitchen, a large room with a vaulted ceiling stained from years of cooking oil and smoke. There were several wood-burning stoves here, a large granite washing basin, and countless wooden cabinets—empty except for a few candles, matches in a waterproof box, and an oilskin jacket. They took everything.
Between the kitchen and the main hall, they passed through a narrow pantry lined with closets whose shelves were usually filled with linens. The linens had been replaced with dozens of giant cast-iron bowls. The metal rims were intricately carved, but the basic form was brutally simple and very, very heavy. They were a lot like the dinner plates they’d set their table with before leaving for the boats.
Kana continued searching the closets, then stopped in front of the middle one, which was big enough to walk into. The interior smelled oddly pungent, like rotting plants. Kana stuck his head inside and then, not entirely satisfied, stepped into the closet.
“What’s in there?” asked Marin.
“More bowls.”
“Just what we need,” said Marin with a half smile. “Right?”
There was no response. Several seconds later, Marin tried again.
“Kana? Hey—Kana?”
Marin peered inside the closet. It was as if Kana had disappeared. Then she heard wood creaking above her. Marin stuck her hand deep inside the closet and felt nothing but empty space. Finally, her hand closed on the handle to an open door. She called out to Kana. When he didn’t answer, Marin stepped into the closet and through the door. It was a tight fit, and she had to bend over to avoid hitting her head. The light from the candle illuminated a tight spiral staircase that continued up into the darkness. Marin began to climb.
She stopped counting the steps at thirty and continued on. A minute or so later, she arrived at an open area, like the attic in her house. It was dusty and so dark that the candlelight didn’t reach very far. Marin pictured the mayor’s house from the outside and tried to guess where they were.
“Kana?”
“Right here.” Kana’s voice sounded as if it was only inches away.
Marin gasped. “You scared me. Do you see anything?”
“At this level, just a lot of boxes,” said Kana. “But the signal lamp is at the top.”
Moonlight coming through the glass dome high above them illuminated a brass-plated receptacle with an oil lamp and several large glass lenses. Marin raised the candle high and began to take in her immediate surroundings. The room itself was narrow and cylindrical, its walls lined with deep wooden shelves that spiraled to the ceiling. The lower shelves were stacked with wooden boxes that appeared to be placed haphazardly, but the shelves above were more organized. Boxes and cloth sacks sat neatly on well-polished shelves, which were sealed off by screen doors. Nothing looked familiar.
The shelves themselves were beautiful works of carpentry, carved to resemble the branches and trunks of trees in the forest. An inset ladder to access the storage rows ran all the way up.
“Can you light the lamp?” Kana asked Marin. “If I’m too close when it lights, I won’t be able to see for hours.”
Marin nodded and ascended the ladder quickly. When she reached the top, she examined the lamp. “We’re in luck,” she called down. “There’s oil in the reservoir. It looks like it just drips down into the burner, so it should stay lit for a while. Turn away—I’m lighting it now.”
Seconds later, there was a flash. The signal lamp shone a powerful beam out toward the sea. It gave Marin a burst of hope; anyone who looked back would know immediately that someone was still in town. The signal lamp also lit up a narrow portion of Bliss—starting with the path leading away from Deep Well and continuing on past the carved gables and cornices of houses closer to the town center. The light dimmed farther away, and Marin could see only a hint of the fishmonger’s stall on the edge of town. She looked on silently until the acrid smell of vaporized oil became too much, then she started down.
Near the bottom of the ladder, Marin paused to examine a forest scene carved into one of the screen doors. The trees in this forest were imposingly tall, with gnarled limbs that extended out like fingers. To Marin, the trees appeared solemn, mutely witnessing what no living being should see. She lifted the door, dislodging a thin spray of dust, and revealing the large wooden box emblazoned with brass filigree that sat inside.
“What did you find?” Kana asked.
Marin’s voice was muffled. She held the ladder and the candle in the same hand, freeing up her other hand to pull the box forward. It was clearly built to contain something heavy; every few inches, the wooden slats were reinforced with
metal strips.
“What is it?” called Kana.
“It looks like a toolbox,” Marin shouted. “Father has a similar one.”
Seconds later, Marin paused her efforts and glanced back down at Kana.
“Help me with this—I can’t open it up here, and it’s too heavy to lower by myself.”
The box weighed at least ten stones, probably more, and took several difficult minutes to bring down. Its metal clasps were stiff with age, and Kana had to hold it in place while Marin worked at the clasps. At last, the lid sprang open.
Kana frowned. The box held an ax, one unlike any he’d seen before. The cutting edge was razor thin and two feet long, and its wooden shaft was thick and well-worn. The head had a vicious-looking spike on the end, so it could also be used as a pike. It was so heavy that Kana could barely lift it out of its carrying case.
“This does not belong to the mayor,” he said, picturing the slight old man.
Marin felt uneasy just looking at it. It wasn’t just the spike or the cutting edge; it was the wooden handle, too, with its deeply grooved whorls and gouges. The wood was perfectly smooth, proof that it had been used often. She looked at Kana. “Maybe it’s just a lumberjack’s tool,” she ventured hopefully.
Kana laid the ax back inside its carrying case and closed the lid. “No—this is for killing. And the person who can wield this ax . . .” His voice tapered off. “We should get back to Line.”
CHAPTER 23
They didn’t bother returning the box to its original place. It was too heavy to lift, and neither of them wanted to linger in the attic. They made their way to the mayor’s quarters and found Line lying on a couch near the edge of the pool. He was wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. At first, Marin thought he’d passed out, but then he looked up when they entered.
“How are you?” she asked.
Line pulled down the blanket and held his injured arm out in front of him. “It still hurts, but at least I soaked it for a while.”
Marin walked to the couch and held the candle over Line’s body. “Can I see?”
Line raised his arm to the light. His forearm was red and swollen, even though the wound itself looked unchanged.
“It’s not getting better,” said Marin.
“I have some lekar for you,” added Kana. He motioned Marin away, then bent down to look at the arm himself.
“Hmm,” said Kana, grimacing theatrically. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut it off. Just in case.”
“Away with it, then,” replied Line with a smile.
Kana may have been joking, but he’d also voiced what they all were thinking. A condition like Line’s, left untreated, could quickly turn into gangrene. Everyone on the island knew about gangrene. There was a time, several sun cycles before, when woodfern had simply disappeared. This meant there was no reliable remedy against infections, leading to numerous amputations. You could still see these old-timers—elderly men and women with missing fingers, toes, even hands. Palan, the old man they’d met on the cliffs, was one of them. His left hand had been taken after a minor cut had stubbornly refused to heal.
Kana went to the pool and scrubbed his hands with the warm water. Then he walked back to Line, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small wooden container with a metal screw top. Inside were a few ounces of the bright yellow ointment. Line nodded appreciatively as Kana applied the ointment to his wound.
“Thanks,” said Line with a sigh. He leaned back in the couch and looked up at Kana. “So—did you find anything downstairs? Any treasures?”
“No,” Kana said, a little too quickly. Line raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“I still want to barricade the door,” said Kana. “It shouldn’t be too hard. Marin, could you help me move this furniture?”
“A barricade?” said Line. He yawned loudly. “Against what? The dark? Let’s just sleep for a while.”
“I’d feel better if the door was locked,” said Kana. He couldn’t help but shake his head at the irony. He’d been horrified when Anton had bolted the windows, dreading the thought of being locked inside his bedroom. And now, here I am, wanting to lock myself up. Perfect.
Line yawned again and looked at his friend. It was as if the hot water had sapped all sense of urgency from him. “Kana, come on,” said Line. “You need to take a dip. You, too, Marin. And then, if you still want, we’ll do the barricade.”
“No, thanks,” said Marin. “I just want to sleep.”
Kana eyed the bathtub. It did look rather inviting. “Fine,” he said finally. He walked over to the pool, stripped to his undergarments, slipped into the warm water, and closed his eyes. Line was right—it felt amazing. After a few more minutes, he climbed out and took a towel from a neatly folded stack. He wiped his face, noticing how thick and luxurious the towel felt. And the mayor decided not to take these? Go figure.
Kana looked around. Line and Marin were lying on adjacent couches and seemed to be sleeping already. For a moment, he considered waking them up to barricade the door, but now the idea seemed paranoid and a little silly. After all, they weren’t in the forest. He dressed and sank into a plush couch. In a matter of seconds, Kana was fast asleep.
Several hours later, Kana awoke to his sister whispering in his ear. Marin’s terrified face was about six inches from his. She was holding a too-bright candle that trembled wildly in her hand.
“Someone’s downstairs,” she whispered.
Kana sat up. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” said Marin. “Listen.”
Neither of them spoke for almost a full minute. There was only silence. Kana was about to tell his sister to go back to sleep when they both heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps below—heavy, slow, and deliberate. Then came the grinding screech that meant someone had pulled a knife from the mantel. Moments later, the stairs began to creak.
“BLOCK THE DOOR!” shouted Kana. “LINE—WAKE UP!”
In a flash, Kana and Marin sprang to their feet, stumbled across the room, and grabbed hold of a wooden dresser that sat near the apartment door. Line joined them seconds later.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Footsteps,” Marin replied. “We need to move this dresser. Now.”
The dresser was heavy, but it moved. Marin, Kana, and Line all gave a final push and the dresser slid into place, blocking the doorway. The footsteps grew closer, steadily moving up the stairs. A few seconds later, the footsteps stopped and the doorknob turned. Marin, Kana, and Line pushed against the dresser with their backs against it, feet out in front of them for traction. Still, the door opened a crack, perhaps a quarter of an inch, before they were able to push the dresser back into place.
“Who is it?” yelled Line. “What do you want?”
Kana could sense his and Marin’s fear. He never realized that the emotion had such a distinctive scent.
Seconds later, the door rattled in its hinges and the dresser began to slide. Whoever was on the other side of this door was tremendously strong. Kana, Line, and Marin all braced themselves against the dresser, using their legs, backs, and arms to keep it in place. It wasn’t enough. The door continued to slide open and a wet, throaty grunt came from the other side.
“Come on!” screamed Line. “Harder!”
They rallied and pushed back. A moment later, the door abruptly clicked shut, as if whoever or whatever was on the other side had given up. There was a full minute of calm. They heard their adversary breathing in deep, baritone grunts. Soon, the sound of breathing was subsumed by the scrape of a sharp blade slicing into the wood on the other side of the door. The sound continued for another moment, then stopped.
The same heavy footsteps retreated down the stairs. The house fell silent.
Kana, Marin, and Line slumped to the floor, muscles twitching with exertion. None of them stirred. They just sat there in a prolonge
d state of shock. Finally, Marin spoke.
“What just happened?” she asked the dark room.
The two boys were silent.
“Who was that?” asked Marin.
“More like what was that,” said Line. “Did you hear that breathing?”
“It knew we were here,” said Marin. “It came right for us.”
“Well,” said Kana, “we weren’t hiding—with the signal lamp being lit and all.”
Marin scoffed. “You think this is happening because we lit the signal lamp?”
“Stop,” said Line. “It doesn’t matter. We have a problem, because they clearly know we’re here.” Despite the warm pool, the room felt even colder now.
“They?” asked Marin. “What makes you think there’s more than one?”
Line stood up, exhaled, and shook the tension out of his arms.
“Just a guess,” he replied. “If there’s one of those things living out there, it seems logical there’d be more. Question is—what do we do now?”
Kana pulled himself up as well. He looked at the dresser. “I guess we start by opening the door.”
Marin shook her head. “Why would we do that?”
Kana turned to Line for support. “We can’t stay in here forever. Besides, I want to see the other side. You heard that carving, right?”
“Right,” said Line. “Let’s have a look.”
“Fine,” said Marin with a slight nod of her head. “Just be quick about it.”
CHAPTER 24
Together, Line and Kana pushed the dresser away from the doorway. Kana grabbed the knob and, ever so slowly, opened the door. They entered the darkened hall. Three grooves were carved onto the door:
I I I
“What are you looking at?” asked Line. “I can’t see a thing.”
“Hash marks on the door,” said Kana. “Give me your hand.”
Kana took Line’s fingers and guided them along the grooves.
“Three hash marks. That’s it?”