CHAPTER 16

Kana and Marin sprinted through the empty town, hugging buildings and avoiding open spaces where they might be spotted by the okrana. The only living creature they saw was a mangy old dog that someone had tied to the front post of a one-room house. The dog was barking mournfully, as if he understood that he had been left for dead.

“I can’t leave him like this,” Kana said, stopping for a moment to undo the knot on the dog’s leash. As soon as he was free, the dog scurried through the front door and back inside the one-room house where he lived.

They ran through Bliss, past their old home, Shadow House—now silent and empty—and followed a faint path only Kana could see. In this direction, there was just one dwelling closer to the woods than Shadow House, and it was often forgotten. It was a ramshackle cottage whose flimsy walls and roof were supported by the gnarled, twisting limbs of several willow trees.

“You think the hermit is still there?” asked Marin.

“Why would he be?” asked Kana, shaking his head. “I doubt anyone else is as stupid as we are.”

Stupid or not, Kana felt better running along the path than sitting with the rest of the town by the cliffs. If anything, he appreciated these last, stolen few moments on the island—the cold air, the scent of evergreens, the glimmer of dew trapped in pinecones. This is almost worth the risk, thought Kana. Almost. He didn’t even mind his sister being here with him because, for once, she seemed contrite and agreeable. She needs me now. That was the crux of it—so she was simply following his lead, silently. This was something to be savored.

The path faded even more as they passed the hermit’s cottage, and at the edge of the forest the path simply disappeared. Kana picked a stick off the ground and used it to poke around the thick underbrush until he found the opening he was looking for. It was hidden by a tangle of dead branches and covered with a thick, gauzy curtain of spiderwebs, which he tore through with his stick. It was strange how spiders were now everywhere, in these months before departure. Some of the largest ones, with legs that were colored a bizarre motley of green and gray, turned up in pillows and blankets. In the school yard, many kids claimed that during Night, every square inch of the island was crawling with spiders. But Kana knew this was just speculation. Everyone is an expert on the Night, thought Kana. Even though no one’s seen it.

He pushed through the torn webs and carefully climbed through a tangle of low-hanging branches. After a few seconds, they emerged onto a narrow trail that cut through a jumble of young trees. While Kana waited for Marin to struggle through, his mind echoed with the warning from his dream.

Stay away from the woods, child—don’t let them see you.

Kana looked around at the unfolding of the heavy forest—the thick tapestry of leaves, needles, damp earth, and moss. A chill ran up his spine. Don’t let them see you. Who were they? And why shouldn’t they see him? He ran his hand across his forehead. He was being childish. It was just a dream. And yet it tugged at him—as if he had tied a string around his wrist to help him remember something, but now he could not recall what it was he was supposed to remember.

Kana led the way deeper into the forest. He walked along the trail at a brisk speed. On their last trip into the woods, they had marked their path with white paint. Though faded, it was still there, and absorbed enough ambient light to help them find their way. Would these markings be bright enough for Line to see? Maybe. If he had the sense to bring torches. The ground underfoot was shrouded in darkness, and Marin tripped repeatedly over roots that crossed the trail.

“Here,” said Kana, offering up his hand. Marin clasped it in hers and they continued down the path. After a hundred yards or so, it opened into a small clearing. Old-growth trees bordered the area, their leaves and branches filling the open space overhead. The space looked like a grand vaulted room with tree trunks for walls and branches for a ceiling hundreds of feet above them. Kana remembered the giddiness he felt at discovering this space months before.

Together they ducked through an opening between two trees and headed down a very narrow path, following the dabs of white paint. The trees and branches were so tightly pressed here that they resembled walls of woven wicker. It had been this way when they found it. In places, the forest walls hemmed in so tightly that they had to step sideways along the path to keep going.

Kana maintained a fast pace, pausing only once, when he felt a pinprick on his arm. It was a drop of ice-cold water. Another landed on his neck, then again on his arm. He looked up. It was impossible to get a decent view of the sky, but the air smelled moist, and he guessed it was raining far above.

“Are we taking too long?” asked Marin, breathing heavily. “I can’t tell.”

Kana studied his sister’s face for a moment. She was deeply distraught. He was scared, too. His pulse was racing. Neither of them should be in the woods. They—and Line—should be waiting patiently to board the furrier boats. And we’re taking this risk for what? A necklace? Line, how could you be so stupid? He had completely lost his head for Marin.

“Will we make it?” asked Marin.

“Yes,” replied Kana. “But we have to move faster—just in case.” He took her hand again and they began to run.