By the driver's cell phone, Iris measures that the daylight has lasted for nine hours now.
She also knows they should already be in Hammerhead. But the roads are a step beyond disrepair: they are in ruins. They have not seen a single daemon since leaving Lestallum, but those monsters have left their mark. She sees them in the trees and pieces of buildings spilling across the roadways. In the vehicles abandoned in the lanes, some pitched onto their sides or roofs. Sees it in the garbage and the tattered clothing that drape themselves across and in the shadows of debris. Like algae in a fish tank, she thinks.
This is nothing new. Iris had already known what condition the roads were in from her expeditions. But there is something different about seeing it all in the daylight. The devastation stretches beyond the roads themselves. The earth is naked and bleak. What vegetation left is long dead. More bones than foliage. But somehow, it looks smaller. It felt bigger in the dark, she thinks.
Maybe it is because of the sky. Iris helps to push a rusted jalopy, tires long gone flat, out of the way. After, she brushes her gloved hands against each other and looks up. It is too big. Too blue and cloudless. All this debris could not obscure that blue.
An hour later, clouds begin to slip into the sky. They smooth themselves out into thin sheets and pass over the sun. Iris can still see its glow through the clouds, but it makes her bones feel hollow anyways. Makes each breath she takes longer. And more infrequent.
"Can I borrow your phone?" she asks the driver. The woman nods and points to the device in the cup holder between them.
"It's nearly out of juice, but go for it."
Picking it up, she turns it over in her hands. The screen is cracked. And just as the driver said, the battery is low. It is awkward to manoeuvre her thumbs around the cracks. But she manages to dial Talcott. It rings twice before he picks up.
"Hello?" He sounds quite muffled through the speaker. Instinctively, Iris presses the phone closer to her ear.
"Hey, it's me. I'm on my way to Hammerhead." She pauses. And then quickly adds, "Iris. It's Iris."
"Oh, Iris!" The speaker crackles. "It's good to hear from you. Yeah, I've been staying at Hammerhead myself."
"I thought you were." Leaning over, she rests her shoulder against the passenger door. "Hey, is Gladdy there with you?"
"No, he isn't. Actually, he's—" Talcott cuts out. And her stomach lurches.
"He's what? Talcott?" Panic makes her voice breathless. Lifting her shoulder away from the door, Iris checks the cell phone's battery display.
"He's fine, he's fine. Sor..." The speaker crepitates again and again, "...ception this way is pretty bad. We're... ing into the... the tow... damaged. I'll call... reception is... I promise."
"My phone's busted." Her other hand moves to cradle the receiver. "Talcott, my phone's busted."
No answer.
When she looks at the display, she sees that the call has ended. And that the battery icon is red. At least they are both okay.
It is nine o'clock when night falls. The clunker makes the short off-road trip to a haven. The havens had been winking out, one by one, in the eternal night. The ones that had stayed active had looked so dim then. But now, in this approaching darkness, its veins seem to burn brighter than ever.
Everyone is silent as they set up camp. Even the most optimistic among them do not speak. The sheet clouds have settled themselves in front of the moon. It too shines through their flat forms. But there is something terrifying about being unable to see it; about being unable to trace its edges against the darkness.
They pull out their rations of canned foods and raisins. As they eat, the only sound is that of their cutlery scraping the inside of cans. And their chewing. Discreetly, Iris raises her eyes to the sky; she has done this many times throughout their meal. But the clouds have not shifted.
Lowering her gaze, she finds herself meeting the stare of the muttering man. Iris does not know his name. She holds his gaze evenly; holds her breath shakily. After a few more seconds, he breaks away and scoots himself closer to the fire.
No one speaks when they lie down to sleep. Iris does not think anyone will sleep; she does not even try. Instead, she sits on the edge of the haven and stares out across at the dark landscape.
This is not the endless night. It is too quiet to be. Iris only hears the crackle of the flames, and a dry cough from someone lying down behind her. But she finds her hands folding over each other anyways. Finds herself praying for the first time in years.
It is awkward and uncomfortable. The gods are long dead, she must remind herself. And her hands feel heavy in her lap.
So she stops. Retreating from the edge, Iris takes to exercise instead. She starts with push-ups. Iris is careful not to grunt too loudly; she does not want to disturb the other travellers. Especially not the muttering man. He sits facing the fire, his back turned to her. After numerous sets, she gets her to feet. Next, Iris tries do a jumping jack. Except her boots land too loudly. The person nearest to her rolls over with eyes wide and piercing.
And then their eyes turn away. Iris follows their gaze up to the sky. The clouds have moved on. The moon is an imperfect and slight shape in the sky. But it sheds light unto them. Her eyes trace the inside edge of the crescent. At its tip, her eyes leave it and flit between the stars. There are so many of them now. She does not remember there being this many. Or them being so bright. Looking at them now, it seems impossible that the eternal night could have kept their light out.
Enchanted, they lead Iris back to the edge. She leans back on her hands. Gazes up at each sparkling form. They are innumerable. Iris tries to connect the old constellations with her eyes. To pick their shapes out from this sea of lights. But she cannot draw a single one. Another thing she has lost to the eternal night. And now there are too many stars for her to find the familiar patterns again. Iris cannot help but be reminded of the glass screen of her cell phone and its dust. Countless glittering specks of sunlight. And she can almost hear the people of Lestallum still.
She wonders if maybe all the people they have lost have become stars themselves.
Iris spends the final hours of the night trying to decide which star would be her father.
Not one daemon had appeared at the edges of their haven. The shadowy landscape was only that: dark and quiet. Just as the night should have always been.
The sun returns somewhere between five and six. It is just as beautiful, if not more so, than it had been the first time.