CHAPTER 5

Line walked Francis up the narrow, creaking stairs that led to the second floor, holding his hand so he wouldn’t trip in the dark stairwell. At the top of the stairs was a small landing and three doorways. One doorway led into Line’s room, another into Francis’s room, and a third into the room his parents had shared.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” asked Francis.

“Okay,” said Line. He was too tired to argue. Francis walked over to Line’s bed and climbed into it. Line crawled in next to him and pulled a huge comforter over them. It was used only in Twilight, when the weather became uncomfortably cold. Francis was quiet, and for a moment, Line wondered if he’d fallen asleep. That hope was dashed when Francis turned and asked, “Did Mother know about the spirits who live here at Night?”

Line paused. Francis did not talk about their mother often.

“Nothing lives here at Night,” Line replied, patting his little brother on the shoulder. “It’s too cold. The island freezes.”

“But the spirits are dead,” persisted Francis. “So it doesn’t matter how cold it gets.”

“There’s no such thing as spirits,” said Line gently. “Adults think that telling kids to get ready before the spirits come will make them pack up quickly. But we live on our own, so we’re kind of adults already and don’t need to play. Understand?” He kissed his brother on the cheek. “Now close your eyes.”

“But I’m not tired.”

Line sighed. “Do you want me to sing?”

“Yes,” said Francis with a yawn.

Line cleared his throat and began to sing “Hand Over Hand,” one of the ballads that old men and women sang as they scaled the island’s cliffs. It was a slow, sad melody—perfect for chanting in rounds, with each climber on a rope singing in intervals. Line sang for a while, then hummed the tune.

Some time later, Line woke with a start. How long have I been asleep? It could have been minutes or hours—he was too disoriented to tell. He stood and walked downstairs. Marin was gone, and the house was in tip-top shape. She had done a great deal of work—the dishes were cleaned, the toys put away, and the tools returned to the shed. Much of the furniture had been moved, too. Marin was incredible.

They had grown up alongside each other, part of a group of children who’d been born at Sunrise. Throughout their early childhood, Marin and Kana had kept to themselves, as twins often do. In fact, one of Line’s earliest memories was watching Marin lead Kana along the cliffs. For years, Line had thought her beautiful—her brown skin, her smile, her confidence, even with the elders. Yet it was Kana whom Line befriended first—the two boys became close around the time that Line’s mother died.

Together, they explored the darkened edges of the forest, where Kana helped Line gather mushrooms and a medicinal plant called lekar. Lekar always fetched a good price at market, but it was hard to find so close to Night, so he mainly sold mushrooms now. This, and a little farming, was how Line supported himself. It was only within the last three months or so that Line and Marin started spending time together—and this, unfortunately, had been the beginning of things souring between Line and Kana, and between Kana and Marin.

Line walked into the kitchen. The old windup clock by the stove read midnight. He had been asleep for hours. Then, on the counter near the food cupboard, he saw a note.

Line,

I thought I’d let you sleep.

The kitchen chairs are in the living room. The coffee table needed to be rotated by a half turn, so it faced the other way. (Insane.) The end table from Francis’s bedroom is in the parlor. I moved the desk by myself. Aren’t you impressed? I also cleaned up your parents’ room. I hope you don’t mind.

There were a few notes on the floor plan that I didn’t understand, like the bit about the RAT, SNOUT, and TEETH. And I couldn’t find the round tables. I’ll bring you some bread tomorrow.

Remember the key. It fits that door in the cellar.

“The key,” said Line aloud. He nodded—fully awake now—and set to work. He grabbed a lit candle from the dining room and proceeded to a door at the back of the kitchen. He opened it, cleared away a thick draping of cobwebs, and headed downstairs to the cellar. The stone walls of the cellar were sweating rivulets of water, which had softened the gravel and dirt floor, making it mucky. Line could feel his shoes sticking to the earth as he walked.

At the far end of the cellar, he found what he was looking for: a sturdy wooden door, bolted and sealed shut with an old warded lock. He’d never seen the door open. His mother had told him it was a storage closet, and he’d never been especially curious about what was inside. The cellar was not a place to spend free time.

Line took the key from his pocket, slid it into the lock, and fumbled around until he was rewarded with a click. He opened the door and revealed two round tables and three large wooden boxes. He walked deeper into the closet and leaned in to examine the boxes more carefully. One of them was marked RAT, a second was marked SNOUT, and the third was marked TEETH.

Line sat back on his heels, intrigued. He hadn’t expected the arrival of the envelopes to lead to a treasure hunt in his own house.

One by one, he brought the boxes to the main floor and arranged them in a row. Line knelt down over the box marked RAT and pulled out a huge animal head, stuffed and mounted on a wooden slab. It looked like a cross between a rat and a storybook mastodon. The head was twice the size than that of a horse, which meant that the body must have been gigantic. Beneath the head was a brass plate emblazoned with ornate cursive letters written in a strange alphabet.

“Wow,” said Line. “You’re an ugly one.” He consulted the floor plan and concluded that RAT was meant to go on the middle peg in the front room. The head fit perfectly. He then walked back across the room and opened the crate marked SNOUT—and removed yet another mounted head. This one had interlocked plates instead of fur, two pointy tusks, and a long snout—almost like an armadillo with an especially big nose. This head hung to the left of RAT. Finally, he opened the box marked TEETH and pulled out a third mounted head. It was almost identical to SNOUT, except for a set of long, jagged fangs.

“What are you?” asked Line quietly, as if he half expected the head to answer his question. “And where in God’s name did you come from?”

There’d always been stories that wild boars—and animals even fiercer and more primordial—lurked in the depths of the island’s forests. Line never entirely believed such tales, but he never totally discounted them, either. It was a large island, and very few people left the immediate vicinity of town and the coastline.

Line consulted the floor plan again, placed TEETH on the wall, and returned the wooden boxes to the basement. He then moved the two round tables into the front room. Finally, he opened the small paper bag of lime and sprinkled it as he walked around, giving the entire dwelling the air of a disinfected outhouse.

When he was done, he stopped to stare into the lifeless eyes of RAT, SNOUT, and TEETH, wondering what the purpose of hanging these grotesque animals on the walls could possibly be. It was pointless—absurd. What will I tell Francis at breakfast?

Line glanced at the small grandfather clock in the corner. It was an hour past midnight. Francis would be asleep for the next six hours. His little brother was the soundest sleeper that Line had ever encountered, and this was a good thing. Line wanted to make a quick trip to the edge of the woods to collect mushrooms for trading. And he knew of a spot that might still have some lekar, though that was probably too much to hope for.

He reread Marin’s letter. She’d even cleaned his parents’ room—knowing that it had to be done, and that he was reluctant to do it. Marin saw a problem, and she attacked it. They were a good team. But everything would change in the Desert Lands. Line knew this because Marin’s mother had pulled him aside recently and said exactly that. She hadn’t been unkind about it, just matter-of-fact: This is the way it must be—she will spend time with other girls her age. In seclusion. And after that, she will be busy with many other things. Tarae had lingered on those last words as she looked at Line. Her message was clear: the relationship between Marin and Line would come to an end when they left Bliss.

Line never told Marin about this conversation. Maybe she already knew. All this filled Line with a sense of immediacy—the next day, or two, perhaps, was all that he and Marin had.

He stood up straight and looked again at Marin’s letter. If he went quickly, there was something he could do for her. He’d been thinking about this for weeks but hadn’t found the time. It wouldn’t take long, and he’d be back before Francis awoke. He grabbed a thick wool sweater and rushed out of the farmhouse.