Nightfall

by Jake Halpern

  The voice paused for a moment, and then asked quietly: “Would you like that? If we buried our corpses in your little vegetable gardens?”

  “No,” said Marin softly.

  For several seconds, there was no sound. Then the voice returned, this time more tired and frustrated than angry. “And now, my daughter has gone missing—my most vexing daughter ran away to help you.”

  To help us.

  Suddenly it clicked in Marin’s head. The voice in the citadel. That was Soraya. That was his daughter. She was the one who had helped them. But why?

  “Do you or don’t you know where she is right now?” asked the voice.

  Marin thought for a moment. She was tempted to lie, but something told her that this would be unwise. It was in the voice’s calm, serious tone. This was no time to play games.

  “No,” said Marin. “I wish I knew—but I don’t.”

  “As I thought,” said the voice.

  Just then, there was movement to the right of Marin. “Marin . . . ,” a voice called out groggily from the darkness. It was Line. “Marin, where are you?”

  “Line—I’m here,” Marin said. “Stay where you are.”

  “No, that’s all right,” said the voice in an almost kindly manner. “Stand up if you like. We’ll be leaving shortly. Or at least you will be.”

  “Leaving?” croaked Marin.

  “Yes,” said the voice. “In fact, we’ve all gathered to see you go.”

  “But where . . . ?” began Marin.

  Marin felt something take her wrist. It was coarse and leathery and it held her in an iron-like vise. Together they proceeded through the darkness. As she walked, she tried to plan her next move, but she didn’t know what was going to happen. Attacking them with the scalpels would be a useless gesture. She’d be killed within seconds. What can I do? A faint light glowed in the distance. They were heading toward it.

  CHAPTER 53

  “Line!” called Marin.

  “Behind you,” he said. He was moving slowly, shuffling his feet.

  Marin’s heart sank—he sounded hurt. “Line—what happened? What did they do?”

  “I’m fine,” Line said. He started coughing, but strangely it comforted Marin. He’s hurt, but he doesn’t sound weak. He’s not going to die.

  The creature squeezed Marin’s hand so tightly, she winced in pain. “Be careful of the witches’ fingers.”

  Marin had seen witches’ fingers while exploring caves along the coast. They were spearlike rocks that rose from the floor of caves; the ones she encountered were only a few feet tall. They formed when water and minerals dripped down from above. The creature guided her through what appeared to be a vast maze of these. Marin couldn’t see the witches’ fingers, of course, but she could feel them with her free hand as she walked. Some were only waist high, while others seemed to be as thick and tall as pillars on a large building.

  At some point, they emerged into the open. Marin could tell because it was sleeting, slowly and thickly, showering icy granules on her head. The creature came to a stop and released her hand.

  “Look up,” he commanded. She could hear the disdain and relief in his voice. He no longer had to touch her hand.

  Marin did as she was told. She was able to discern a band of dark gray clouds. Slowly she came to understand that she was standing at the bottom of a very deep, narrow crevice and that she was actually looking up at a sliver of the sky above. They were somewhere in the canyon.

  “Here’s your chance,” the voice said.

  “My chance?”

  “Yes, you know how to climb—don’t you?”

  “You’re asking us to climb that?” asked Marin. It looked like a wall—the vertical rock wall of the canyon.

  “Not asking,” said the voice in a smooth, matter-of-fact tone. “Telling.”

  She felt Line’s presence next to her and reached out for him. His fingers touched hers—and her heart heaved a great sigh of relief. Marin took a tentative step forward and pressed her palms against the wall of the canyon. The surface was smooth and wet; the wall itself was completely vertical.

  “I can’t do it,” said Line. His voice was soft, defeated. “No way.”

  Marin looked toward the sound of his voice. She was about to reply but suddenly realized how the copper box might be useful. And it did not involve stabbing the creature. It was something else altogether.

  She pressed closer to the wall and bent down, as if examining it more closely. She was conscious of the box in her pocket, its subtle weight tugging on her pants. How did it unlatch?

  Marin heard Line breathing. She reached out for him with her free hand. His clothes were wet and dirty and his forehead felt cool.

  “How’s your arm?” she asked.

  “Better,” said Line. “Swelling is down.”

  “Good.” Then she leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Stay close—I have a plan.”

  “Marin—”

  “We can do this,” interrupted Marin. “Trust me—it’s just like the cliffs after a rainstorm.”

  The creatures had backed away, giving them room to begin their climb. Marin took off her jacket and then her sweater, cinching them tightly around her waist. She reached into her pants pocket, pulled out the copper box, and slid it between her body and the wall of the cave. Conscious of the seconds ticking away, she fiddled with the latches and opened the box. Immediately she saw the small glass bottle that was glowing faintly. That’s the one.

  Everything depended on whether she could pull off the next move. Marin removed the bottle of glowing ink and screwed the top of it into the handle of one of the rods. It worked—locking into place—just as it had in her bedroom days before.

  “What are you doing?” asked the voice. It sounded a good twenty feet away. Marin quickly slid the box back into her pants pocket and held the scalpel at the ready. Now came the real test. She didn’t know how to use the scalpel, but she had a hunch. Holding it in her right hand, she extended her left arm and made two long cuts through her shirt and into the skin—from the shoulder all the way to her wrist. Her skin stung momentarily, then began to glow.

  “Stop her!” called a creature from above.

  Steady now. Marin hastily extended her right arm and marked it in the same manner, with two quick slashes. Again the sting, and now that arm also radiated two bright bands. It wasn’t a powerful light, but it cast a muted radiance against the cliff wall, allowing her to see some of the minute cracks and crevices.

  “I don’t believe it . . . ,” gasped Line.

  “Your turn,” she whispered. Line took the rod, but at that moment, something hit him hard in the arm. The scalpel fell and glowing ink skittered across the floor of the canyon, leaving a ragged line on the ground. Marin was struck across the head. She fell heavily and tasted cold dirt—but she had enough presence of mind to push the copper box farther down in her pocket.

  “Enough of this!” boomed the voice from close by. The canyon fell quiet. And then the voice spoke again in a soft, almost sweet whisper. “Now climb—before I throw you onto the witches’ fingers myself.”

  CHAPTER 54

  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 t
o 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 wor
ds 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!”

  CHAPTER 55

  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.