“There’s litter out here,” Lina said after a while. She pointed with her foot at an empty can. A few steps farther on, there was another empty can, and not far beyond that, a broken jar. “How did this stuff get here?”
“Rats, I guess,” said Doon. “They must have dragged it out from the Trash Heaps.”
Since they were now on the same level as the city instead of looking down into it from above, they didn’t see the light as a spot anymore but as a dim background glow that made a few edges and corners of buildings visible. And they could see this glow only when they paused now and then and Doon stopped cranking his generator, because the brightness of the generator’s light bulb blinded them to the fainter light beyond. It was lucky, Lina thought, that there was light in the city at all. If the darkness had been complete, they wouldn’t even have known where the city was; they could have wandered around in the Unknown Regions for a long time before heading in the right direction, and they wouldn’t have known it was the right direction until they’d practically bumped into a building.
Step by step, they moved on, lighting their way just a few feet ahead, and suddenly the lit ground in front of their feet disappeared into darkness.
Baffled at first, they came to a halt. Then Doon crept forward, inches at a time. Lina heard him gasp and say, “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“The ground ends,” Doon said. “It drops away here. We’re standing on the edge of . . . I don’t know, a hole or a chasm.”
Lina stepped forward and stood beside him and looked down. The toes of their shoes were right up against a black emptiness. She couldn’t tell how deep or wide it was; their light penetrated only a few feet down and forward, and beyond that all was dark.
“We’ll have to go around it,” Doon said. “We can’t go down in there.”
“Never,” said Lina with a shudder.
“Let’s try going to the left,” said Doon.
They backed away from the edge, turned, and with great caution headed along the rim of the hole. Minutes passed, and more minutes, and still they were walking beside the black emptiness, on and on.
“It isn’t a hole, then,” said Doon finally. “It’s a sort of ditch.” He pondered for a moment. “It might go all the way around the city.”
“A ring,” Lina said. “To keep people from leaving.”
This brought them to a stop. Lina recalled the whispered rumors she’d heard all her life—about people who had gone out into the Unknown Regions and never returned. They could be down there—what was left of them.
“We have to go back,” she said. “We can’t get across it.”
“I wish we could tell how wide it is,” said Doon. “If it’s deep but not very wide, then maybe we could.”
“How?” said Lina. “Jump?” She meant this as a joke, but Doon didn’t laugh.
He said, “Didn’t you bring some scraps of paper with you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have a couple of them?” Doon asked. “I have an idea.”
Lina pulled two of her scraps of paper from her pack and handed them to him. Doon bent over and looked around until he found a small stone on the ground. He wrapped the stone in the paper and held the paper to Lina’s candle until it caught fire, and then quickly he threw the flaming packet out over the chasm. It flew up and then dropped, farther and farther, until it struck with a small tap far below their feet and went out.
“One more try,” said Doon. “I’ll throw harder.”
He lit the little packet and heaved it with all his strength. This time it flew out in a long arc and landed at the same level as the ground they were standing on. It looked to Lina to be maybe ten feet away. “So it’s a deep crevice,” Doon said. “But not all that wide.”
“Too wide to get across,” said Lina. “We have to turn around.”
So they retraced their steps. The chasm now yawned on their other side. Lina forced fearsome pictures from her mind: rats crawling up over the edge, other creatures even worse than rats. . . . “Let’s hurry,” she said.
They came to the place where they’d begun, recognizing it by the bits of litter that lay on the ground there. “This is where we go back to the path,” said Doon. “But I hate to give up, now that we’ve come all this way.”
“We have to,” Lina said. “Otherwise we’ll just walk around and around and never get to the city.”
“We don’t know that for sure. Let’s go a little farther, just in case.”
And after only a few steps, they saw the way. Two thick planks stretched across the chasm. “Someone made a bridge,” Doon said.
It was not a bridge that inspired confidence. Narrow, slightly sagging, with no rails to hold on to, it reached out into the darkness, and below waited the invisible depths. But beyond was the city.
“Shall we try?” asked Doon.
Lina just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Doon put his generator back in his pack and lit a candle from the flame of Lina’s. Then he started across. With each step, he paused, looking ahead and not down. The planks creaked beneath his feet. Lina held her breath, as if even breathing too hard might knock Doon off balance. His light drew farther away, but quite soon he turned to face her from the other side. “You can do it!” he cried. “It’s not hard!”
She stepped out. She looked only at her feet—one step, and then the next. The boards of the bridge shuddered a little beneath her. It was good, she thought, that she couldn’t see how deep the space below her was. She was almost there. Doon stood just ahead. She would have been fine if she had not let her eyes stray at the last moment and caught a glimpse of white. In spite of herself, she turned to see: a tumble of pale sticks on the slope of the pit, just below her. Bones.
She staggered and fell to her knees. Her candle dropped into the pit and went out. She clung there, gripping the boards with her hands.
“Don’t move!” cried Doon. “I’m coming!”
She waited, all her muscles clenched, and in a moment Doon was in front of her. She gripped his hand, stood up, and followed him on shaky legs to the bridge’s end.
“All right?” he said.
She nodded, but her mind was spinning. She knew people died. She knew that the dead of Ember were carried out past the Trash Heaps, that the Song of Goodbye was sung for them, and that their bodies were left for the rats and worms to deal with. Everyone in Ember knew this. But to think about those who had fallen to their deaths alone in the darkness, in terror—that was different. “Let’s go,” she said. “I want to get away from here.”
So they hurried on, lighting the way with just Doon’s candle, now that the haze of light from the city was so close.
“Do you smell something?” Lina asked.
Doon sniffed. “I do. Smells like smoke.”
“Could a building be on fire?” Lina wondered.
“I don’t know,” said Doon. “I hope not.”
They walked on. The orange light stayed more or less steady, though the smell of smoke grew stronger.
They realized they had reached the city when a wall suddenly appeared not five feet in front of them. The candlelight, instead of making a circle beneath their feet, seemed to fold upward at the farthest edge. A few steps closer, and they could put their hands out and feel the chilly stone of the building. Doon raised his candle higher to see if there were any clues about what building they had come to—but of course there weren’t. None of the buildings in Ember had windows or doors on the side that faced the Unknown Regions.
Keeping one hand on the wall, they made their way along until they came to a corner, and there Lina looked for a street sign. She found it easily—a pole with its small printed rectangle on top. “Deeple Street,” she said, and in her mind, the whole city and their position in it fell into place. “We’re on the north side—in Farwater Square. Look, here’s a light pole.” Doon’s candle lit up the base of the pole, but the top, where before a great lamp would have been shining, was lost in
darkness. On the corner of Deeple and Blott streets, an old white rocking chair stood, for some reason. Maybe someone had put it out as trash, although to Lina it looked perfectly sturdy.
“All right, good,” said Doon. “So first let’s find where that light is coming from.” Lina took out a candle and lit it from Doon’s. She wanted to see everything as well as possible.
They started down Blott Street, Doon ahead and Lina close behind. It was strange and thrilling to be in her old city. Even though their candles lit only a very small area around them, her memory easily filled in the rest. Here was one of Ember’s many old-clothes shops, the one run by Sarmon Grole. Here was the market where she’d bought so many turnips and beets and jars of baby food. Here was the house where she’d once taken a message to an old man who collected string. It was all familiar, but so strange, too, because of the silence and emptiness. No people bustled past the stone buildings anymore; the great streetlamps fixed to the buildings’ eaves no longer sent out yellow pools of light. Lina’s candlelight glimmered on dark, cracked shop windows, fell into the gulf of open doors, and lit bottom steps of stairways, where sometimes there was a sock or a scarf, dropped by someone in a hurry to leave. Lina peered at everything she passed, identifying, remembering.
By the time they came to Cloving Square, she’d fallen quite a distance behind Doon. She saw that he, too, must be absorbed in remembering, because he didn’t seem to notice she was no longer near him. She hurried to catch up; they mustn’t get separated. But she couldn’t help pausing once again when she came to the messengers’ station.
This was where she’d come on the first day of her first job, which had been assigned to her on her last day of school. She’d been given her red jacket and told the rules, and then she’d been off—running through the streets of the city, carrying messages everywhere. She’d loved being a messenger. She gazed at the empty spot, where beside a door was a bench with a couple of red jackets flung across it.
A wave of sadness washed over her, and she looked away and hurried on up the street toward the tiny glow of Doon’s candle far ahead.
Then suddenly she heard a shout. Doon’s voice—what was he saying? She froze, trying to hear. Another shout: “No! No!” and with it, voices that were not Doon’s. So people were here after all. But what Lina was hearing didn’t sound like friendly greetings.
She started to run—but she went too fast. Before she’d gone ten steps, the air rushing past blew her candle out.
There was nothing to do but stop. She stood where she was (on Greystone Street, almost, she thought, to Passwall), peered at the glimmerings in the distance that now looked like two candles, not just one, and listened. The gruff voices growled and snarled and overlapped each other, and she couldn’t make out the words, but Doon’s voice rose high and clear. “Let go of me!” he cried.
Terror drained away Lina’s strength. But she knew when she saw the lights fade and the voices grow more distant that she had to move. She had to keep track of Doon; she couldn’t lose him. She would have to run, and without her candle, the only light came from way up ahead of her, from the people who’d caught Doon and the dim glow behind them. Quickly she bent down, took her shoes off, and thrust them into her backpack. She could go more quietly in her socks. Then, keeping her eyes on the tiny lights ahead and one hand stretched out, fingers brushing the wall, she ran.
Doon’s voice came again. “I did come alone! I’m by myself!”
Lina understood. Do not let them see you. That was Doon’s message. Someone had caught him, and she musn’t let it happen to her.
She traced the map of Ember in her mind as she went. I’m behind the Gathering Hall now. I’m passing Roving Street, on my right. She hardly let herself breathe, for fear she might be heard. She ran as fast as she could without being able to see where she was stepping, and very soon she drew close to the voices and the moving lights. Too close. She couldn’t just run up behind them and follow along. She would have to get ahead of them somehow, find a hiding place she could watch from, and see who they were and what they were doing with Doon.
So she turned and went along the back of the Gathering Hall. If she went fast, she could hide behind the trash bin at the far corner by the Prison Room and see if they came out into Harken Square or went another way. There was the chance that she’d get confused—complete darkness can erase your mental map, as she well knew. But if she was sure she was out of sight, she could light her candle again. So she crept forward, rounded the corner of the Gathering Hall, and placed herself behind the trash bin. The light here was brighter than ever, and the smoke smell was stronger.
Now that she had stopped running, Lina found that she was shaking all over. Everything had happened so suddenly. Their plan, which had been going so well, had been changed in an instant. Now what? Now what?
As if in answer to her question, Doon’s voice pierced the darkness again. He was farther away now. His words weren’t as clear. But what she thought she heard was, “Get away! Go home! Get—” There was a pause, and then “Help!” Was this a message meant for her? Was he telling her to go home and get help? She wasn’t sure.
Cautiously, moving a fraction of an inch at a time, she looked out from behind the trash bin. Right away, she saw them: two men with Doon between them, on the far side of Harken Square, each with a grip on one of Doon’s arms. And in the center of the square, so bright it made her squint, was the source of the orange light they’d seen from above. It was indeed a fire.
Lina had gotten past the terror of open flames that she’d had when she first arrived in Sparks. She’d become used to fire, at least the kind of fire that’s helpful, the kind that lets you cook and keep warm. But this was a big, disorderly fire, right on the pavement, a spreading heap of charred rubble, shooting up flames in some spots and smoldering in others. It cast a wavering orange glare out across Harken Square, on the kiosks where old posters still hung, on the wide steps of the Gathering Hall—and on three figures who scurried around the fire’s edges: one big one and two smaller ones.
As Lina watched, the tallest of the fire-tenders bent over, picked something up in one hand, and threw it toward the fire. Lina saw its black silhouette as it fell, flapping and fluttering, toward the flames. Sheets of paper, she thought. In fact, she was sure—it was a book.
CHAPTER 8
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Prisoner
Later on, Doon would be grateful for two things about that awful moment when the men appeared. One was that Lina had lagged behind, so only he was captured. And the other was that the straps of his pack had been pressing painfully on his shoulders just before it happened, so he’d taken the pack off to readjust it. When he saw the two men, he was so startled that he let it fall.
He had just passed the corner of Roving Street, and there they suddenly were ahead of him, first one, then the other, two dark shapes emerging from a doorway, each with a light, and each one carrying some sort of bag or bundle.
His immediate impulse was to greet them. He stepped forward and called out, and they whirled around at the sound of his voice. Doon saw that somehow they wore their lights on their heads. He saw that one was short and stocky and the other slightly taller and thin, but aside from that, he couldn’t see them well enough to tell if they were people he knew.
“Hello!” he said, moving toward them. “Who are you?”
They stood silent. Doon stared, trying to get a look at their faces. Why weren’t they answering? Then one of them muttered something to the other, and they dropped their bags and sprang at him. Doon backed away, stumbling, trying to turn, but he didn’t move quickly enough. His right arm was grabbed, then his left, and though he twisted and pulled, he found himself caught fast. He shouted, “No! No!” His candle fell to the pavement and went out.
He still could see nothing of the people who’d grabbed him—they were just shaggy dark hulks with a bad smell and lights that seemed to be growing out of their foreheads. Their hands circled his
upper arms like bands of steel. The person on his left spoke. “The question is,” he said, “not who are we, but who are you? You’re the trespasser.”
Doon tried again to pull away. “Let go of me!” he cried. But the two men were strong, though they were hardly taller than he was.
“Don’t struggle,” said the one on his right, “or we’ll twist your arms off.”
“Yorick, you muttonhead, shut your mouth,” said the one on the left. “We’re not twisting off any arms. Just march him this way and be quiet.”
Doon knew at once that these were not people of Ember. Though he hadn’t known every single citizen of his old city, he knew there was no one who sounded like these two. Or had lights like theirs, either. Now that they were right next to him, he saw that each of them wore a kind of lantern—a cap with a tube attached at the front, and in the tube a candle, like a glowing horn. The candles cast weird, downward-pointing shadows on their faces, but Doon could tell that the shorter man was older and hairier than the taller one, and the taller one had either a small mustache or a shadow beneath his nose.
Doon’s mind went in crazy zigzags as they dragged him along. He opened his mouth to call for help from Lina, and then snapped it closed again. No, he couldn’t let them know she was here. She could help him only if she wasn’t a prisoner, too.
“This is our place, boy,” said the man on his left, the older one. “We run it. No intruders allowed, and no sightseers. You’re going to have to explain yourself.”
“Somebody musta come with him, Pa,” said the one on his right, who had a high, whiny voice. “A kid wouldn’t come down in such a place alone.” He gave Doon’s arm a vicious squeeze.
Doon yelped.
“Don’t hurt him, Yorick, you brainless bucket,” said the one called Pa. “We can use him. Don’t want him crippled.” He tugged Doon’s other arm. “So who came with you, boy? We know you didn’t come alone.”