by Jake Halpern
“He would’ve wanted to die at sea,” said Able, still staring at his father. “Thing is, I don’t even know the words to chant.”
“You’re a Sun?” asked Alec.
For the first time, Able looked up. “Yeah,” he said. “Though we never made it to temple much—neither of us was much for goin’ ashore. Don’t suppose you could call us believers. Even so, now that he’s gone, I’d like to say them words. My father knew them. Didn’t know much else, but he knew them words. I remember he said ’em when my uncle passed.”
The skin around Able’s jaw quivered, the only sign of the grief he was holding in.
“I can help you,” said Alec.
“I ain’t devout,” said Able. His voice cracked for a second. “I ain’t been good. Been sailin’ and smugglin’ my whole life. Never talked to the gods.” He looked pleadingly up at Alec. “And they ain’t never talked to me.”
“That’s all right,” said Alec. His voice was soft and kind. He paused. “Would you like me to say the prayer?”
“I would,” said Able. “I know who you are—know what you do—and I really would appreciate it.”
Alec cleared his throat and began to sing, his exquisite and perfectly true voice rising from his lungs and across the decks of the old schooner . . .
The sun is setting and darkness now comes,
Feel the dying light,
Bidding the wanderers home from the storm,
Warming the faces of friends and strangers,
This last day,
This last time.
“Yes,” said Able. He looked up at Alec gratefully. Slowly, with great effort, he rose to his feet. “Those are the words I needed to hear.”
Alec nodded solemnly and returned to his cabin belowdecks.
Several days later, when the sea journey was nearly over, Wren woke from her sleep with a start. She looked around the cabin groggily. Alec’s hammock was empty.
Wren stood, dressed quickly, and made her way to the deck. The seas were calm, with only a slight wind pushing the boat toward the Desert Lands. Even though day had not yet broken, the air felt dry—already arid and desert-like. Far up above, the last stars flickered weakly, and the eastern sky had begun to lighten with the promise of dawn.
She found Alec in the stern, pacing back and forth, hands clasped together.
“Up early?” she asked.
He nodded, an uncertain expression on his face.
“I was just thinking about my parents,” he said. “They were—they are—so proud to be Suns. By now, they probably heard that I fell into the Drain and they think I’m in purgatory, preparing for the Sunlit Grove.” A sudden gust of wind made Alec take a step back. “But instead I’m near the Desert Lands, going to Ankora with you.”
“Do you want to see them?” Wren asked. “After Ankora, maybe I’ll go with you. I’ve never been up north.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, what would I say?” He exhaled and rubbed his face. “I keep thinking we should tell someone the truth.”
Wren snorted. “Would anyone believe us?”
“No,” replied Alec. “But it might make me feel better. The truth is, I’m even more scared of dying now than I had been before.” The early-morning air was cold, and he felt goose bumps form along his skin. His face was pale against the dim light. “I think a lot about everyone going down those stairs—into the water. They seemed so calm. I wouldn’t be that way. I’d be . . .” He shook his head and looked away.
“It wasn’t time for us yet,” said Wren, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We have more living to do.”
“And what if you die first—and you have to go without me?” asked Alec. “What then?”
“Then you’ll just do what you always do,” said Wren with a smile. “You’ll follow me.”
“Give me a break,” said Alec, pushing her away playfully.
She stared at him intently.
“I believe in you,” said Wren. “I believe that you are a good person—and there’s lots that you can do for people—just like you did for that second mate, Able. You helped him. And you can help others. That’s what I believe in.”
He took her hand and held it tightly. “That’s something, I suppose,” he said, looking directly at her. “Isn’t it?”
Wren nodded.
The sun peeked above the cloudless horizon: sunrise. Just then, in the distance they could see the contours of land—a series of sloping mounds—the great rolling dunes of the Desert Lands, stretching along the horizon as far as the eye could see.
“Come on,” said Wren. “We better get our things. We’ll be there soon. Are you ready?”
Alec breathed in slowly. A deep, long breath that curled into the bottom of his lungs. “Yes,” he said. “I think so.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This was the hardest book we ever wrote. When our heroes, Wren and Alec, were lost in the underworld—so too were we. We made it through thanks to the following people.
There were times when we lost faith, but we never doubted our editor, Ari Lewin. When we needed a fresh set of eyes, Amalia Frick answered the call. To Lindsay Boggs, you make the book publishing world spin. To the powerhouse leadership of Jen Besser, Felicia Frazier, and Jen Loja—you’re what makes Putnam/Penguin the best! We would also like to thank a host of others in the greater Penguin family, including Eileen Kreit, Julia McCarthy, Emily Romero, Erin Berger, Kara Brammer, Carmela Iaria, Marikka Tamura, Kristin Smith, David Briggs, Emily Rodriguez, Liz Lunn, Cindy Howle, Rachel Cone-Gorham, Anna Jarzab, Madison Killen, Shanta Newlin, Todd Jones, Wendy Pitts, and Helen Boomer.
To Svetlana Katz at WM—your words of advice and encouragement were indispensable. Tina Bennett, as always, was a steady hand. If ever our ship should fall off the edge of the earth and—we’d want Tina at the helm. Thanks also to Alicia Gordon and Erin Conroy for your vision and tenacity in the realm of TV and film.
JAKE: Thanks first to my mother, Tamar Halpern, for always believing in me with your whole heart; and also to my father, Stephen Halpern, for your love and support. To my wife, Kasia Lipska. 10-26-96. I remember that day like yesterday. And many more to come. To my sons, Sebastian and Lucian, every story I tell is really for you. You remain the lights of my life. To Paul Zuydhoek and Mirek Gorski, our conversations about history gave me much inspiration. Betty Stanton, thank you for your magic—Pustefix Bubbles and otherwise. Best wishes to my fellow author: Barbara Lipska! Thanks also to Greg Halpern, Ahndraya Parlato, Witek Lipski, Coach Cheyenne Noble, Susan Clinard, Micah Nathan, Brian Groh, and Emily Bazelon. And, of course, fist-bump to my CF crew, Aaron Poach, Carla O’Brien, Jared Keith, Mike Pozika, Gil Simmons, and Benny Brunson.
PETER: To my wife, Nancy—you are wonderful and supportive and amazing in all ways—that moment you shot me in paintball is the moment that everything changed for the better. To my children—Blaze, Alina, and Sylvie—you make my days sweet. To my mom, Jo Kujawinski, il arrive parfois que la route soit belle. Thanks as well to Liza Kujawinski-Behn, Mark Behn, Alex Behn, Clare Behn, Dan Kujawinski, Maureen Finneran, Arlene, Dave, Charla, Brock, Lauren T., Steve, Lauren, Ryan, and Gil Weinsier. And to my old buddies: Joe Napoli, Alastar McGrath, Dan Reichart, Brian Zittel, Marcus Pearl, and Steve Mesler—I’m proud to call you my friends.
Visit http://bit.ly/2nXetNr to view a larger version of this sheet music.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.