Nightfall by Jake Halpern Page B

except for a few of the okrana, and theirs were ancient muskets.
    As the furriers walked past, one of them—a small, wiry man with blond hair—stopped to stare at Marin and Kana, then walked toward them. Anton frowned and stepped forward, blocking the furrier. The surrounding area grew quiet and all eyes were drawn to this sudden face-off. Anton said nothing. His face was a mask, showing neither bravado nor weakness.
    â€œYour boy,” said the furrier, pointing to Kana. “He has our eyes.” And it was true. Kana’s pale blue eyes were a rare trait among the people of Bliss.
    Anton seemed unsure how to respond. The furriers rarely talked with townspeople.
    â€œThe boy,” repeated the furrier. “He is yours?”
    â€œYes, of course,” Anton replied. He stepped forward, took his hands out from under his traveling cloak, and looked the furrier square in the eyes.
    The furrier raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that, old man? His eyes mark him as one of us.” He laughed hoarsely. Tarae walked over to Anton and placed a hand on his shoulder.
    The furrier leered at Tarae, then winked. Anton’s hands balled into fists. Marin studied her father closely, wondering what he would do. But he did nothing. The unanswered insult was too much for Marin. “His eyes are different because he’s blind,” she called out. “Does that mean you’re blind, too?”
    The furrier stared at Marin with open interest. “You have a wild spirit,” he said. “I will watch for you on the boats.”
    Marin forced herself to glare back at him—she refused to give him the satisfaction of appearing scared.
    Anton turned around and shot her an unmistakable warning with his eyes:
Keep out of this.
Meanwhile, the furrier laughed and walked away.
    Tarae yanked Marin to her side.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you, child?” she hissed. “Don’t even
look
at those men.” Everyone in their area was staring at them. Thankfully for Marin, it only lasted a few seconds, and the nervous energy of the departure returned.
    Marin continued to watch the furriers as they walked away. She felt her father’s presence next to her and, rather suddenly, she felt ashamed of herself. Marin had been so concerned about the loss of her own independence that she’d missed the larger truth. They were
all
at the mercy of the furriers.
    In the distance, she could see the furriers speaking with the mayor. The conversation didn’t seem friendly. The mayor’s face grew red and pinched, and his hands curled into fists. He rocked back and forth and shook his head vehemently while the furriers stood there, impassive. Marin couldn’t make out the words, but she registered the mayor’s change in tone. It shifted from annoyance to pleading. And then it was over. The furriers walked away toward the cliffs, their guns glinting in the last dregs of sunlight. The mayor and the townspeople watched them go.
    Not long after this, the teenaged okrana with the kinky hair pushed his way back into the center of their gathering and, once again, stood ceremoniously by the flagpole.
    â€œAttention, Night Fire!” he yelled. “The furriers collected more furs than they expected. There will not be room for all of your provisions.”
    â€œWhat about
people
?” one of their neighbors shouted. “Is there room for all of the people?”
    â€œI think so,” replied the boy. He paused for a moment to consult his codex, as if the answer might be hidden away in its pages. Then he looked back up. “Truth is,” he said, “I don’t really know.”
    Suddenly, everyone was talking at once, asking questions, shouting accusations, and demanding answers. The same thing was happening at the other flagpoles. The wind came up suddenly and added to the general cacophony. In the distance, the man with the speaking trumpet was trying to reestablish order.