CHAPTER 29

They gathered up their possessions and put them in the sack Marin had found. It wasn’t much: their remaining handful of candles, several lengths of rope, a nearly empty box of matches, a well-used flint, and the leftover food she’d gathered. Marin and Line each carried a knife from the mantelpiece, and Marin had the copper box with the marking scalpels. They walked quickly through the darkness, heading for the hermit’s cottage. It was raining steadily and within minutes they were soaked. The rain was piercingly cold, and Marin was grateful again for the oilskin and the extra clothes.

Overhead, the air was alive with the frenzied chirping and fluttering of bats—tens of thousands of them. They had arrived within the last twelve months, following the Night, and their numbers had been increasing steadily by the week. The bats seemed to live in the forest, yet every few days or so, they suddenly appeared near the coast to feed. The rain in particular seemed to enrage them, and now they dove aggressively toward the ground, swooping so close that the three of them had to hunch down to protect their faces.

And then, as suddenly as they appeared, the bats vanished. Tiny pellets of ice began falling from the sky. The hail lasted for just over a minute, but it was enough to sting their faces and hands before it shifted back to rain. The weather finally cleared and, in relief, they slowed their pace. They were nearing the hermit’s house.

Since leaving Deep Well House, Marin had thought only of the dark path in front of her. She fully expected something to jump out at them, and she gripped the knife so hard that her hand began to ache. When she eased her grip on the knife, other thoughts began to reenter her mind. She thought of her parents. Where are they now?

“I suppose it was stupid to think that he would come back for us,” said Marin finally.

“Who?” asked Kana.

“Father.”

Kana slowed as he considered what Marin said. “I’m sure he would have come if he could,” he said at last.

“I want to believe you,” she replied. “I really, really do, but—”

“You’re not giving him enough credit,” said Kana. “I know you’re talking about what happened with that furrier, but what was he going to do? Yell? Hit him?” He shook his head. “No. His concern was getting us onto the boats—even if it meant being insulted.”

“You’re right,” said Marin with a sigh. “I guess . . . I just hated seeing Dad that way—I never thought he would let anyone treat him like that. He just seemed so . . . powerless.”

Line was walking next to them, listening to the conversation. He hadn’t seen the furriers, but what he heard from Marin made him think again of Francis. Who’s watching over him—now—at this very minute?

“If there was any way, Father would have come back,” said Kana. “I’m sure of it.”

“Right,” said Marin. “If there was any way.”

For his part, Line was glad to hear Marin talk this way. He didn’t blame the adults, but he didn’t expect anything from them, either. When his mother died, Line had assumed that the town would simply take care of them. And it had—for about three days. After that, they were slowly forgotten. He wasn’t bitter about this. Not anymore. But he understood: At some point, when things go wrong, you have to fix them yourself.

They continued on in silence. Minutes later, they smelled smoke.

“What do you think?” asked Line.

Marin looked around and sniffed the air. “His is the only house in this area. If he’s still here, that would be a very lucky break.”

“It seems pretty crazy for him to have stayed, unless he really hated the Desert Lands.” Line laughed darkly. “Do you think he’s just hanging around, sipping dandelion wine, making popcorn, and waiting for us to show up?”

Marin glanced wryly at Line. “Dandelion wine? Popcorn?”

“Dandelion wine and popcorn would taste good about now,” said Line with a smile. “He’s not as strange as people in town think. I talked to him a few times.”

Marin was about to respond but noticed Kana’s gait was off, as if he had a pebble in his boot.

“Are you okay?” she asked her brother.

Kana stopped and looked at her. “I’m fine,” he replied. “Why?”

“It looked like you were limping a little,” said Marin.

Kana shook his head. They continued walking as the scent of smoke grew stronger and stronger. Finally they rounded a bend in the trail and came upon the hermit’s ramshackle cottage. Smoke billowed from its chimney. This wasn’t the smoke of a dying fire. This was the smoke of a blaze that had just been stoked with fresh wood. One of the windows flickered with a faint light.

Kana looked at Line. “Should we knock?”

“No,” said Line. “There’s another door around back.”

The three of them circled the house, walking slowly but deliberately. The place was in terrible disrepair. Several of the windows were cracked, the walls were tilting, most of the gutters were already on the ground, and the roof was so buckled, it looked in danger of caving in. When they finally found the back door, Marin took a step forward and listened for any sounds of movement inside. There were none.

“I don’t hear anything,” whispered Marin. “Uh, what’s that smell?” Suddenly, she was aware of being alone.

“Line? Kana?”

Kana’s voice floated in from the darkness. “We’re behind you—knock.”

Marin stepped forward and rapped her fist against the door’s wooden frame. There was no reply. She knocked again, but after a second or two she just grabbed the old brass doorknob and pushed the door open. She stepped into the cottage and was immediately struck by a putrid odor. The first floor of the house was one large room, the dim space partially illuminated by the blaze of the fire that crackled in the stone hearth.

“Hello?” called Marin.

Silence.

“Hello?”

Still nothing. Kana and Line joined her inside.

“I don’t think he’s here,” she said.

“So who built the fire?” asked Kana. He found himself hungry all of a sudden, as if his appetite had awakened with a start.

“Probably the hermit,” said Line. “But he spent a lot of time in the forest. Look at this place. Would you want to spend your days hanging out here?”

“What could he be cooking?” asked Marin. “It smells disgusting.”

The three of them all sniffed the air at once.

“It’s not so bad,” said Kana. “And I’ve got the weakest stomach of anyone I know.”

Together, the three of them looked around the room. It was a labyrinth of clutter. Wooden crates were strewn about, some empty, some filled with scraps of wood. Fishing gear of all sorts—nets, lines, hooks, and buoys—were scattered across a rickety kitchen table. Overhead, hanging from the rafters were strands of dried herbs, musty pelts, fishing rods, rusting animal traps, empty bottles, and coils of fraying rope.

In the far corner of the room was a small area that looked like the kitchen. The wood-plank walls were stained with soot. There was a water basin, a stack of tin pans, some well-worn utensils, and a few jars of spices. Line did a quick scan of the area in the hopes of finding some food. There was none. He did, however, find a small trapdoor in the floor, but when he opened it, he saw that it was merely a garbage chute that emptied into a foul-smelling pit.

A steaming cast-iron pot hung from a hook over the hearth. Marin walked over to the fireplace to take a closer look at what, exactly, was cooking. At first glance, she thought it was just an ordinary brown stew—with some sizable chunks of meat—until she realized that the chunks of meat were, in fact, the sinew and muscle tissue of bats.

She blanched and took a step back. “No wonder he was a hermit,” she said under her breath.

“What is it?” asked Line as he walked over to have a look. Kana was on the other side of the room, looking at the front door.

“Bats,” said Marin.

“Marin! Line! Come over here,” said Kana. They ran to the front door—the one they had opted not to use when entering the house. Kana had opened it and was staring at something.

“What is it?” asked Line.

Kana stepped outside, walked forward several feet, and then abruptly stopped. He turned back toward the front door, looking grim. “You need to see this.”

Marin and Line walked over. Carved into the wood of the door was a hash mark that had been crossed out.

Kana pointed into the darkness beyond the house. “It gets worse.”

Marin had absolutely no desire to go out and see for herself, but she lit a candle and took Line’s hand and, together, they ventured into the darkness. They didn’t see anything at first. In fact, Line almost stepped on it accidentally—then he glanced down and saw the brown grubby fingers, the long bent arm, and the prone body of the hermit. He was lying on his stomach, face pressed into the earth. Line knelt down, grabbed hold of the shoulder, and, with some effort, began to flip him.

“Line!” said Kana. “I wouldn’t do that . . .”

But it was too late. The body flopped over, revealing the hermit’s front side.

Line recoiled instantly. The man’s torso was soaked with the blood that now covered Line’s hands. A trickle of blood still oozed from the hermit’s head and neck, which were marred with a number of small, perfectly round puncture wounds. There was no point in taking the man’s pulse. He was clearly dead.