Nightfall by Jake Halpern

other desert girls. They wouldn’t even speak the same tongue. And throughout that time, she wouldn’t see Anton or Kana or Line. Only her mother would be allowed to visit.
    â€œNever,” whispered Marin to herself. She was filled with rock-solid certainty. “I won’t do it.”

CHAPTER 14
    A few minutes later, Marin returned to the parlor, standing alongside her mother and Kana, waiting for Anton to finish up. They were all dressed in their seafaring clothing: wool caps, cloaks, waxed canvas pants, and knee-high boots. Finally, they heard Anton’s voice coming from the foyer. “The okrana just ordered us to the loading area.” There was a long pause. “I’ve been told to say that anybody who refuses will be dragged out.”
    â€œIs that a joke?” asked Kana.
    â€œNo,” said their father as he appeared in the parlor. “Everyone is getting cranky. But don’t worry. This happens every time we leave the island.” Anton grabbed a candle from the windowsill and handed it to Marin. They exchanged glances, and a hint of irritation lingered in his eyes. “No confirmation on Line yet,” he said. “I’m guessing he’s down at the staging area.”
    Marin nodded.
    Together they walked outside and stood in front of the darkened house. Two members of the okrana were waitingsolemnly for them. They were both old—not as old as Palan, but from his generation. They each held high a blazing wick torch. Rivulets of sweat rolled down their faces, and they were trembling slightly.
    â€œThis is a new beginning for us,” said Tarae as she put her arms around Marin and Kana, drawing them tightly to her. “The Desert Lands are waiting.” The happiness in her voice was unmistakable. Neither Marin nor Kana replied.
    â€œRemember the front door,” said one of the okrana.
    â€œOf course,” said Anton. And very carefully, he closed the door so that it remained open just a crack.
    The okrana helped them pile their luggage onto a small, rickety handcart. And then, together, with Anton pushing the handcart, they walked through the shadows—westward, toward the cliffs. Kana and Tarae brought up the rear. Tarae was walking slowly—she had a nagging fear of tripping in the dark—and Kana guided her gently, draping an arm across her back.
    â€œYou know, the Night is beautiful in the desert,” said Tarae. “The sky is clearer there and the stars are more numerous.” She smiled at Kana and ran a hand through his hair.
    Kana said nothing. Three days of sunlight and three days of darkness. For Kana, this meant three days of vision and three of blindness. His mother had been fretting about this lately, as if she were personally responsible for the habits of the sun.
    â€œDon’t worry, Mother—it’ll be fine,” Kana said. “It’ll be easier than the years of daylight that I had here.”
    â€œI know you’ll miss all this,” said Tarae, gesturing vaguelytoward the darkness around them. “But I think a change of scenery might be good for you . . . you’ll sleep better once we’re off the island,” said Tarae with an air of certainty.
    â€œReally? Why is that?” He sounded unconvinced. His mother was trying her best to tiptoe around his feelings, but somehow this extreme tactfulness made it worse.
    She glanced at him sideways. “Just call it a mother’s intuition.”
    Several minutes later, they arrived at the cliffs. The area was always busy with people coming to and from boats, but today it was crowded with people, boxes, suitcases, sacks of flour, rolls of fishing nets, caged chickens, and other supplies of all kinds and quantities. Children ran wildly, caught up in the excitement of the moment, and dogs chased them. The noises—shouting, crying, talking, barking—were overwhelming.
    Only the faintest pinprick of orange remained in the