by Jake Halpern
Alec sat down cross-legged next to her.
Wren, however, seemed fidgety as she paced around the strange thicket. Branches of all sizes formed a cocoon around them, making it look like a small hut—about the size of Irv’s place. An image of Irv, cowering on the ground as his hut burned, suddenly flashed in Wren’s mind. She blinked hard and shook her head to make it go away.
“How’d you find this spot?” asked Wren.
“Sebastian did,” said Flower. She was massaging her bad arm, the one she had broken, which seemed to be bent permanently like the bow of a violin. “Strange place, isn’t it? The steam makes the ground warm.”
Wren lowered a hand to the ground. Alec did, too. The steam made it seem as if something were smoldering beneath the earth. Alec picked up a handful of soil—it was warm and sticky, like half-melted wax—and he quickly brushed it off his hands. He grimaced, wishing for something he’d always taken for granted: clean water and soap. A hot bath would be lovely. No chance of that. He was starting to feel like a grayling.
Alec sat up straighter and turned to Flower. “I’m curious,” he said. “You died about five hundred years ago? That was around the same time that Ember died, right?”
Flower stared back at him, unblinking, her big brown eyes shining like two glass marbles. “Yeah,” she said. “I died with Shade, Ember, and Sebastian—we were all killed in the great fire. Half of Edgeland burned up. I was just a whiff. When we got here, no one paid me any mind, except Sebastian. He kinda took me under his wing.”
“Wait a minute,” said Alec. He leaned forward. “Do you mean Sebastian Half-Light?”
Flower nodded.
“Half-Light,” said Wren, still pacing back and forth. “There’s a statue of him somewhere. Didn’t his family rule Edgeland?”
“That’s right,” said Alec. “They were a family of shamans who refused to call themselves Suns or Shadows.”
Wren turned to Flower. “So you all arrived here, in purgatory, together?”
“Yes,” said Flower. “The island was basically empty back then. But each day more dead arrived. Shade, Ember, and Sebastian took charge. They ran the island together—the three of ’em.”
“Wait,” said Alec, brow furrowed. “You said the island was empty. What happened to everyone who died before you?”
“That’s the question—isn’t it?” asked Flower. She smiled for a moment and her eyes seemed to gleam. “Well, they must’ve moved on.”
“To heaven?” asked Wren.
Flower shrugged. “How should I know? Do I look like a religious leader to you? Point is—the dead can leave. That’s what Sebastian figured out.”
“What, exactly, did he figure out?” asked Alec.
“Well,” said Flower, “when we first got here, there were no bliss houses. Those were built later. Originally, there was just the wall and what you see on the Meadow: the fountain and the statues. And there used to be a golden key lying in the fountain—shaped like a serpent.”
“Used to be?” said Wren.
“Yep,” said Flower. “You see, one day Sebastian comes to me, looking frightened, and says he figured out what the key does. That it opens a door—a way out of here. Shade and Ember are after me, he says. He also tells me that he has the key. I put it somewhere safe. Then the graylings came. They took him … and vanished him in a sea coffin.”
“I don’t get it,” said Wren. “If there’s a door, why wouldn’t Shade and Ember want to open it?”
“Maybe something about the door spooked them,” suggested Alec.
“More than spooked ’em,” said Flower. “The door scared the hell out of ’em. Ever since they vanished Sebastian, they keep moving his body around, from one sea coffin to another. And they keep guards around it, too. Shade and Ember want to make sure he never talks to anyone—ever again. Of course, that’s part of the reason why they hunt breathers—they’re the only ones who could wake him up.”
Flower reached into her sealskin bag and opened an ancient, handwritten edition of the Common Book. The margins were filled with notes in a tiny scrawl.
She tilted the pages so Alec could see. “This belonged to Sebastian,” she explained. “He gave it to me right before he was vanished, so I could keep it safe. I’ve read his notes a thousand times, hoping to find a clue about where he hid the serpent key. But …” She shrugged and handed it to Alec. “Here—you try.”
Alec paged through the book for several minutes. The writing filled every available space and was largely illegible. On some pages, it looked like one long, never-ending sentence. Alec eventually gave up and handed it back to Flower.
He looked over at Wren. Her nervous energy had clearly burned off, because she had curled up on the ground and fallen asleep.
“That’s a good idea,” said Flower as they both looked at Wren. “You should sleep, too. I’ll wake you when we need to leave.”
“What about you?” said Alec.
“The dead don’t sleep—all we need are the drops,” said Flower. She put Sebastian’s book back into her sealskin backpack and zipped it shut. “But breathers gotta sleep. Go on. This is probably your only chance.”
Alec slid onto the ground, near Wren. She didn’t move—she was snoring softly, almost purring. Alec closed his eyes, but for a while he just moved around restlessly. Eventually, the warmth from the ground relaxed him, and he slept.
Hours later, Alec woke to the sound of moaning. It was Wren. She was sitting up, but hunched over and clutching her head.
Alec sat up and touched her shoulder. “Wren … What’s wrong?”
“Dizzy,” she whispered. “I-I think it’s from being thirsty.”
“Does your heart feel jumpy?” Flower asked, who was crouched by her side. “Like it’s skipping beats?”
Wren nodded.
“You’re dehydrated,” said Flower. “As soon as we find Sebastian, you need to take the canoe and leave.”
Wren shook her head and gently pushed Flower’s hand away. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Really, it’s passing.” She took in a deep breath and let it out. “Besides, there’s something else I want to do before we go.”
Flower tilted her head toward Wren. “Something else?”
“Yeah,” said Wren. She looked at Alec first, then at Flower. “I want to find my mother.”
Flower shook her head. “Bad idea. You need to leave, not start lookin’ for your dead mom.”
Wren cleared her throat. “Why is it a bad idea, exactly?” There was a trace of anger in her voice.
Flower returned to her spot, against the tree trunk, and sat back down. “You’re not the first breather to get this notion,” said Flower. “I lost two breathers that way. A couple—a mom and dad—wanted to find their kid, and I swore I’d never do it again.”
Alec pursed his lips and nodded slightly, as if he agreed with Flower but didn’t want to be too obvious about it.
Wren’s face reddened. “It’s easy for you two to say no,” she said. “She’s not your mother.”
“Wren, wait,” said Alec. He stood up and placed a hand lightly on the crook of her arm. “What happens once your mother’s awake? She can’t come with us to the world of the living. Remember that Flower was stopped from climbing all the way up. And if we get caught, we could all end up in those sea coffins.”
Wren shook off Alec’s hand and walked to the edge of the clearing, where she stared into the thick brush. Finally, she turned back toward them. “My mother died and I never got to say good-bye.” Her voice trembled a little. “And my dad came looking for me, then disappeared. I don’t even know where to find him—just that he might be from Ankora, which must have over a million people.” Her voice was trembling more now, and her cheeks were wet with tears. “Even if I make it there someday, I’ve got no idea how to find him.”
She paused, as if daring them to contradict her. Alec and Flower just waited for her to continue.
“Right now, I’m nothing more than a filthy grayling,”
Wren continued. “But if I can talk to my mother … just for a few minutes, it could change my life. She’ll know where I can find him …”
Wren wiped her face with the backs of her hands.
“Wren, I understand—” began Alec.
“No, you don’t,” snapped Wren. “You’re not an orphan. You didn’t spend three years in the descenders. You didn’t get cut up because you were fighting for food. You were lying in your fluffy bed in House Aron reading books.”
“I hated that you were down there,” Alec hotly replied, his face flushed. “And I hated myself for …” He stopped himself.
“For what?” asked Wren. She looked at him expectantly, holding her breath. “Why’d you hate yourself?”
Alec shook his head.
“Go on,” said Wren. “Finish what you were gonna say!”
“Fine,” said Alec. He took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. “I told Sami Aron about the ring. I saw you going into the cellar when they were washing that lady’s body.” Alec buried his face in his hands. “Sami knew we were friends, so he came to my room and said that lying for a thief is the same as stealing the ring myself, and that he’d send me back to my parents if I didn’t talk. I was nine. I was scared, Wren.”
For a minute, there was absolute silence. Wren sat rigidly still. Finally, she reached out and peeled Alec’s hands away from his face.
“I’m not stupid,” said Wren. As they stood in the clearing, she turned to look in his eyes. “I knew exactly what happened. I always knew.”
Alec’s face turned white. “You knew? But … why didn’t you say anything? How could you still be friends with me?”
“I was angry … for a long time,” Wren admitted. “Still am, a little bit, I guess. I mean, you did rat on me, Alec.” She shook her head. “But look, you also stuck by me. You’re the only one who did. You brought me food … and coins. I mean, I would’ve died if it wasn’t for you.”
Alec sniffled and wiped his nose along the grimy sleeve of his robe.
“The worst part,” said Alec, “was that I believed you’d really done something wrong. I believed that people actually needed all their things in the next world. And none of it’s true.”
For the first time in a long while, Flower spoke up.
“There’s only one thing people need down here,” she said. In that moment, her eyes looked impossibly old. They were not the eyes of a girl—they were the eyes of a woman who’d lived for centuries. “They need a way out. And what you and Wren are doing—helping to wake Sebastian—it could save all of the dead from these horrible bliss houses.” She stood up and walked over to the crawlway that led back to the Meadow. “I’m gonna have a quick look,” said Flower as she crept through the thorn bushes. “It’s almost time.”
Alec rubbed the palm of his hand against his forehead.
“You knew all along,” he said. “I always figured that if you knew, you’d never speak to me again. It’s why I never said anything.”
“I’m the one who stole from the dead,” she said with a shrug. Her tone was now light, skipping over the surface of the moment like a rounded pebble. “It was my choice. I was just so obsessed with going to Ankora.” She smiled and wiped her face. “At this point, I’d settle for going back to the descenders.”
Alec turned his head, glancing down the crawlway, but he didn’t see Flower.
“Wren,” he said, looking back at her. “If we die down here …”
“We won’t,” said Wren. She sighed. “One way or another, we’re getting out of this rat hole.”
Flower emerged into the clearing. “The Suns are leaving faster than I expected. We gotta go.”
Wren nodded. She felt better after her rest and was eager to leave. “We’re ready.”
Flower pivoted back into the crawl space, followed by Wren. For a moment, Alec was left alone, his mind swimming with everything that had happened. He wanted to call out to Wren, grab her attention—and see her face one more time—just so he could assure himself that she wasn’t secretly holding a grudge.
But she was already out of sight.
Alec entered and crawled quickly to catch up to them. He found Wren and Flower crouched at the hidden entrance. They waited in silence for another minute.
“Now,” said Flower. She pushed open the branches so Alec and Wren could step through. They walked directly toward the stone gateway that led to the Sun side of the island.
Once again, they had to pass through a tunnel manned by the Blind—but they moved quickly and soon emerged onto a broad terrace with a panoramic view of the other half of the island.
Alec was relieved. These were his people—Suns—even if they were dead.
The only way down was a long, winding staircase, which was now congested with throngs of Keepers returning from the Meadow. Wren, Alec, and Flower waited on the terrace until it began to clear. Dressed in their grayling robes, no one paid them any mind.
Directly in front of them stood a man and a woman, both wearing threadbare burlap robes ribboned with gold thread. Their arms, necks, and hair were covered with a chalky gray dust. The woman held a rusting pickaxe in her calloused hands. The man carried a dented metal bucket in one hand and was stroking the stubble along his chin with the other.
“Quit it, already,” said the woman. “Enough with yer scratchin’.”
“Leave me be,” said the man, still caressing the bristly hairs along his chin. “Bein’ able to feel things don’t last long. I want to enjoy it while I can.”
“Enjoy it,” said the woman. “That’s a funny way of puttin’ it.”
“You’re just jealous,” said the man.
“Jealous of you scratchin’ your beard?” said the woman.
The man guffawed. “That’s right. You’re jealous of me scratchin’ my beard!”
“You’re a fool,” growled the woman. “Anyway, a lot of good that’ll do you, diggin’ in the darkness.”
The man’s only reply was the sound of his continued scratching.
The staircase began to clear, and those still at the top, including Flower, Alec, and Wren, started down.
Wren could think of little else besides her mother. She knew that if she pushed hard enough, Alec would help find her. And maybe she could persuade Flower. But was it wise? Without water or food, climbing the falls would be a gargantuan task. She was a very good climber. But what about Alec? She thought of his manicured hands, suited mainly for turning the pages of a book. Could he really make it?
At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a circular plaza, which served as the intersection of seven converging streets. The crowds dispersed. Flower led them down a street that wove between several warehouses, each one crowned with sharp-tipped pyramids. Every building had a numbered door—these, clearly, were the bliss houses for the Sun side of the island.
The streets were by no means crowded, like in Edgeland, but they seemed busier than the ones on the Shadow side. Keepers in tattered gold robes stood outside each bliss house. Several eyed them curiously, but quickly averted their gaze. Flower picked up her pace.
Wren shot Alec a questioning look.
Alec shrugged.
Then came an unexpected noise. It sounded like rain. Wouldn’t that be nice. Wren imagined cold water splashing into her open mouth. But it didn’t seem possible. There was no humidity in the air, and the sky was the same white-gray it had been since they’d arrived. Flower began glancing about, as if searching for an escape route, but there was nowhere to go but forward or backward. Flower cursed to herself and motioned them toward the outer wall of the closest bliss house.
The sound of rain grew louder.
And then the pack appeared.
Wren could see them approaching in the distance. It looked like the pack they’d seen earlier—a great crowd of the dead, deep in bliss, shuffling forward. Only this pack had at least five hundred people.
Wren glanced over at Alec. He was already doing the drill: head tucked, chin plaster
ed to his chest, breathing through his nose.
“They run their packs bigger on this side,” whispered Flower. “They seem to have more dead who won’t sit still.”
The pack’s members were held together by a web of ropes made from dried seaweed. Rope bracelets with seashell rattles were tied around their ankles, hissing and clattering as they walked. This is what accounted for the sound of rain. A team of graylings, each carrying a wooden stick, whacked anyone who started to stray from the pack.
It wasn’t until the pack was almost upon them that they realized there was no way around. Even if Flower, Wren, and Alec stood with their backs pressed against the wall of the bliss house, they would still get trampled.
Flower grabbed Wren and Alec and pulled them back down the street, into a small nook in the outer wall of a bliss house. It was just a foot deep and three feet wide, but it was big enough for the three of them. When they stood with their shoulders pressed against the back of the nook, they were effectively out of the street and out of the way.
Seconds later, the pack arrived, seashells rattling. Faces came into view—lips moving, mouthing the sacred mantra. Bodies brushed past them. Flower’s plan was working. Then an enormous man approached. He was about seven feet tall, and he was moaning and muttering as if trapped in the throes of a sleep terror. As he drew nearer, he began to jerk his arms about, pulling violently on his ropes. The ropes, already weak from constant tugging, broke.
Suddenly free, the big man became even more agitated, pushing and shoving those around him. The pack surged sideways, filling every available space. The nook offered Alec and Wren little protection. Bodies pressed into them. They soon brushed faces with several of the dead. Alec and Wren could feel cold, leathery cheeks and hard, bony chins. One man’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and when it touched Wren’s face, it felt as coarse and dry as sandpaper. She and Alec held their breath for as long as they could, but it was no use.
Looking back, Wren couldn’t recall how many faces she’d actually breathed upon. Maybe it was three or four. But it happened. A minute later—when the pack had finally passed—she could hear their screams. A man was yelling, “Untie me!” And a girl was calling for her mother.