CHAPTER 19

Seconds later, they were on the path to town, moving as quickly as they dared. Words were kept to the bare minimum. Step to the left. Take my hand. At one point, the path narrowed so much that they had to walk single file. Marin was last, with Kana leading and Line in the middle. At times, she had to stop herself from pushing them forward. Come on, come on, come on. And then Line would trip, or let out a pained grunt, and she was reminded that they were going as fast as they could. Unfamiliar squawks and rustling came from both sides. At times they were very close by, and Marin found herself glancing backward, half expecting to see someone or something on the trail behind them.

Kana knew they were moving slowly. Far too slowly. He didn’t have a timepiece, but he, too, sensed the minutes ticking away. How long have we been gone? An hour and a half? Two hours? Impossible to say. But it was taking too long. That much was certain.

Eventually they came to a small break in the woods—a glade speckled with waist-high zebra grass. Line muttered something and threw the branch he’d been leaning on to the ground. He collapsed and clutched his ankle. Marin sat down next to him and placed her hand on his heaving chest.

“Just a minute,” gasped Line. “Got to catch my breath.”

“You all right?” asked Kana. He was circling the glade, looking at the ground.

Line gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You need a decent crutch,” said Kana. “It’ll help you move faster.”

“I was thinking the same thing, but I haven’t seen anything.” Line let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Kana stepped away from the glade and began foraging among the trees. They heard a sharp snap. Moments later, Kana returned to the trail with a long, sturdy stick that had a naturally curved handle at the top. Kana held it up for Line to see.

“Good?” asked Kana.

“Yeah—just knock off another few inches,” said Line, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

“Got it,” said Kana.

Kana used his foot to apply pressure to the bottom of the stick. There was another snap, then Kana handed the stick to Line. Marin helped him stand, and the curved handle fit perfectly under his armpit. Line would have been hard-pressed to carve a better crutch.

“Don’t suppose you saw any lekar while you were out there?” Line asked as he struggled to his feet.

“Don’t press your luck,” said Kana with the thinnest of smiles.

“Too late for that.” Line shrugged. “Thanks, though—this’ll help.”

They continued on, at a faster and more controlled pace. Line’s crutch helped immensely, and they made such good time that Kana began to hope that the furriers wouldn’t have started the general boarding yet. They took a wrong turn only once, and retraced their steps quickly. But in time, they came across familiar markings and areas they had been before, and at last exited the woods not far from the hermit’s house.

Marin turned to Kana.

“Go!” she said. “We’re through the woods, safe and sound. Run down to the boats. Tell them we’re here. Hurry!”

Kana nodded and took off at a sprint. Marin and Line followed behind as quickly as they could. They’ll be there, Marin told herself. She bit her lip until she felt the sting. There is no way they could have left so quickly. They’ll be there. They’ve got to be there. Marin forced Line to move fast, at times nearly dragging him along. They passed through the main street of Bliss and paid little attention to the darkened houses. They’ll be there, she told herself with every step. They’ve got to be there.

When they emerged from town, they saw the ocean for the first time. And in the distance, the last wisp of sun had disappeared. Nightfall. Marin’s heart was in her throat. The air seemed colder already, but what she noticed most of all was the dark. She looked at her hands, and already the details—knuckles, fingernails, old scars—were hard to see. They had been told of how quickly the darkness would fall when the sun finally disappeared. It took years and years for the sun to make its way across the sky, but only minutes for Night to arrive.

Far ahead, at the cliffs, flags still fluttered at the loading area. Marin saw boxes and suitcases—hundreds of them. The okrana said that some of the luggage might be left behind, but this looked like all of it. Clearly, they were still boarding.

“Where is everyone?” Line asked. He was jerking his head left and right almost spastically.

Marin looked again. Everything was there . . . except for the people. What’s more, the luggage seemed to be in terrible disarray. Possessions were strewn about as if a tornado had plowed through the area. Some of the flags were still standing, but others leaned to one side, and a few were snapped in half.

“I’ll check,” said Marin, breaking into a run. She couldn’t stay at Line’s pace any longer. Kana was in the distance, by the cliffs. He was surrounded by a wasteland of debris—shirts, pants, coats, books, shoes, cracked jars, combs, brushes, shovels, blankets, pots, and plates. She yelled for him as she drew nearer. Kana’s attention, however, was on the ocean.

“Where are they?” she gasped as she reached his side.

Kana pointed at the horizon. The sun was gone but they could see the distant image of the ships in the glow of the rising moon. The furrier vessels were miles away, sailing in tight formation, heading due west.

“No,” Marin whispered. “They wouldn’t . . .”

She jumped up and down and waved her arms. Surely they were close enough for someone to see them.

“MOMMA! DAD! We’re here! Come back!”

Kana started yelling, too, and for several minutes they screamed themselves hoarse. Line picked up a discarded flagpole, its cloth banner torn in two, and waved it over his head. The ships continued on their course.

“It’s not possible,” Marin whispered. And yet she knew it was. Of course it was. How many times had they told us? They had no choice. The furriers set the rules. And then there was the unstoppable force of the tides. They had left precisely on schedule. Any thoughts to the contrary were simply the wishful delusions of a child.

Gradually, Marin became aware of her surroundings again. A mud-smeared doll lay facedown in the thistle. A cracked clay pot sat next to it, with its contents—a thick bean stew—soaking into the ground. Next to it lay a scrap of cloth—torn from a shirt, or pants, or a jacket. It was smeared in blood. These scenes were repeated all over the loading area. The town’s well-practiced departure had been brutally swept aside. Whatever the reason, the loading process had broken down so completely that treasured possessions had been cast away like table scraps.

“It must have been a disaster,” said Kana. “No one would notice if three kids weren’t where they were supposed to be—not at first, anyhow.”

Marin looked down at the pier. The tide was as fast—and as strong—as predicted. Already the sea had retreated about two hundred feet, exposing the rock and pebble-strewn seabed. Her legs buckled and she fell to the thistle, staring at the distant image of the ships with ferocious concentration, as if she could will them back. They will realize what happened and change course.

The ships grew smaller and smaller until they were the tiniest of specks on the horizon. And then Marin couldn’t see them at all because her eyes were awash with tears. The truth of the situation was rising up within her like a bubble. She tried to press it back down, to pretend it wasn’t there, but slowly it crept back up. There was no ignoring it, so she tried to accept it gradually. The boats are gone. That was a fact she could see with her own eyes. My parents are on the boats. Okay. Me, my brother, and Line are still here. She could feel the panic rising again as she built to the final truth. Night has fallen. And it will last for a very long time. And then Marin was sobbing. Kana tried to comfort her, but she shrugged him off and hugged her knees.

“It’s getting cold,” said Kana. “We can’t stay here.”