The Scourge

by Henley, A. G.

  There’s silence, then someone moves toward me, crunching leaves under their feet.

  “This is Peregrine,” Shrike says.

  I hold out my hand. It stays extended in front of me for what seems a very long time. I think of myself frozen that way, a welcoming statue found years in the future by someone who happens across the clearing. Embarrassed, but determined not to show it, I thrust my hand out even further.

  A hand finally brushes mine. I can tell it belongs to a man. There are calluses on the ends of his long fingers. This Lofty smells different from the others, more like . . . honeysuckle. I liked playing around the honeysuckle in the garden as a child, avoiding the preoccupied bees and soaking in the sweet, sunny scent. It’s the fragrance of summer.

  “Hello, Fennel.”

  I’m surprised. I pictured my Keeper middle-aged, like Shrike, but this Lofty doesn’t sound much older than me. And while his hand is rough, his voice isn’t. It’s quiet, almost melodious. More like the calls of the warblers that wake us each morning than the predatory screech of the falcon he’s named for. All the Lofty men are named for birds, while the women have ridiculous names like Sunbeam, Dewdrop, and Mist.

  “Though I don’t wish the Scourge to return,” Aloe says from behind me, “they will. It’s good that you’ve met.”

  “Congratulations on your acceptance into the Three,” Shrike says. “You’ll serve your community well.”

  “Thank you,” she says.

  Aloe’s voice is different, gentler, the voice she reserves for Eland. She has a bond with this Lofty. I wonder if I’ll have a similar bond with my rough-handed, soft-voiced Keeper.

  “So,” I say to Peregrine, “were you chosen because you’re a good hunter? Aloe says Shrike is deadly, as deadly as she’s ever known a man to be.”

  “I can use a bow and arrow.”

  “Ha, don’t let him fool you. Peree’s one of our best archers. We’re counting on him tomorrow.” Shrike sounds proud, like he’s talking about his own son. Maybe he is. We don’t know much about the Lofties.

  Fox’s voice booms across the clearing. “Come, eat, and let the dancing begin! We have some anxious boys here, waiting to find out if the girls they’ve had their eye on for the past year will dance with them.” The crowd laughs, even a few of the Lofties. People all around the fire begin to talk normally again, and the music starts up. I’m relieved that the collective attention seems to have turned away from me.

  I smile politely at my Keeper. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Peregrine, like Aloe said.”

  “Call me Peree. Everyone does.”

  I nod. “My friends call me Fenn.”

  The music starts up. I should go. Bear, or someone else, may be waiting to dance with me. Whether I want to or not. I turn away . . . and a mad idea grabs me.

  Ask the Lofty to dance.

  I hesitate. Is Aloe still nearby? Can she hear us? She’s one of the Three now, tasked with managing our complicated relationship with the Lofties. There’s no rule against dancing with them, but that’s only because no one has ever tried. Aloe—not to mention the rest of my people—might be furious with me. I decide I don’t care. At least I’ll have made my own choice.

  “Peree? Would you like to dance?” He doesn’t say anything. I bite my bottom lip. “You know, dance? I’m not bad, really. I won’t even step on your feet much.”

  “Lofties and Groundlings don’t dance together.”

  “Why not?”

  He’s quiet again. “No idea. Tradition, I guess.” I half expect him to say it in Bream’s voice.

  I hold my hand out, palm up this time, challenging him.

  I never get an answer. Shrill birdcalls rip through the air—Lofty warning calls. The music dies, and for a moment the clearing is quiet. Then the screaming starts.

  The Scourge is here.

  Chapter Two

  I listen for the cries of the creatures, my hand still stuck out in front of me. I need to move, to get to the caves with everyone else. I map out the best way to get there in my head. Run along the edge of the clearing—avoid being trampled or knocked in the fire. I break for it, and someone grabs my hand. Peree.

  “Come on.”

  He jams my arm under his and drags me around the fire. People careen off us, yelling to douse the flames, find children, gather up supplies. Someone shouts for help, but I can’t stop with Peree towing me along.

  “Fennel!” Eland yells, grasping my free arm. Peree’s gone before I can thank him.

  “Where’s Aloe?” I shout.

  “Over here!” Eland pulls me away from the spitting, hissing bonfire. “Mother, I’ve got her!”

  “Get to the caves." Aloe's voice is calm, but weary. "I’ll be there shortly.”

  I hang on to Eland’s arm as we run. People jostle around us. The trail from the clearing to the mouth of the caves is endless.

  “Almost there,” Eland pants.

  I hear a cry off the path; so weak I doubt anyone else can hear it. “Someone’s hurt. Go on, I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Fenn–”

  “Go!” I push him and plow into the bushes. I could fall on whoever it is if I move too fast so I creep forward, sweeping my arms in front of me. A bush gropes me, tearing my skin. I hear the moan again, just in front of me.

  “Fennel, thank the stars.” It’s Willow, one of the elders.

  I lift her up gently and set her on her feet like a toddler. Clasping her frail body to me, I stagger back to the path. Willow whimpers in pain, and I slow to loosen my grip.

  Then I hear them, crashing through the forest behind us, shrieking as they come.

  I start to run, supporting Willow, trying to stay on the path. Hands seize me, and I cry out.

  “I’ve got her!” Fox yells. He sweeps Willow into his arms and sprints forward, his feet pounding the path.

  I run too, terrified I’ll trip and fall. People call to me from the mouth of the cave, giving me a sound to aim for.

  I hear the flesh-eaters just behind me now.

  Then, warm arms and bodies catch me. I’m safe. Eland finds me and we hold each other. The people are quiet, listening to the creatures groan in the darkness outside the cave. Aloe’s voice rises above their hungry cries.

  “Come,” she directs us.

  And we do, following her through the passageway to the still, black cavity that will be our home until the Scourge leaves again.

  Calli and I huddle together against the rock wall, shivering in our bedrolls. Groups of people around the main cavern confer in hushed voices, comparing escape stories as they warm themselves at small fires. It was a long, mostly sleepless night.

  The Lofties usually give us more warning when the Scourge is near. It’s their part of our uneasy bargain. We provide them with small game and skins, produce from our gardens, and access to the water. In return, they allow us to cut down certain trees for wood, and they warn us when the Scourge is coming so we can hide out in the caves. What they never do is offer to share the safety of their airy homes.

  The caves are safe. The flesh-eaters don’t come in—they don’t seem to like dark, confined spaces any more than we do—but we can’t leave either, until the Scourge is gone. They only move on when they’ve exhausted their food source, the animals—and humans—who rely on the fresh water to survive. Groundlings have tried over the years, but we’ve never been able to find another source of water. It’s risky to explore very far from the caves, because we never know when the flesh-eaters will come. So we’re stuck, with the Lofties, with the Scourge.

  “I hate the caves,” Calli says. “And I hate the fleshies. We never even got to dance.”

  I put my arms around her. “We’ll dance again, when they’re gone.”

  “I know Bear was going to ask you. You should’ve seen his face while you talked to that Lofty.” She pulls the bedroll up under our chins. “We couldn’t believe it when you went over there. You do the strangest things sometimes. Who was he, anyway?”
>
  “My Keeper, Peree.”

  “Peree? What kind of bird is that?”

  “Short for Peregrine.”

  “Oh. Well, what was he like?”

  “I don’t know; I barely spoke to him.” I think of his callused hands and his musical voice. I won’t tell her I asked him to dance. “What did he look like?”

  “Tall, fair-haired, feathers sticking out all over the place. Looking down his nose at everyone. You know, like a Lofty. They all pretty much look the same. Ugh, I think my toes are frostbitten.” She grabs my leg. “The Three are here.”

  We jump to our feet, and I feel Aloe take my hand. Sable, the oldest of the Three, speaks to me, his voice splintering like desiccated wood. He’s been on the Council for as long as I can remember. Some call him Sable the Unstable, because he totters when he walks, and because there’s been quiet speculation about how sound his mind is these days. Aloe said his time on the Council is probably limited, but he would stay on until she settles into her new role.

  “I understand you rescued my mother last night, Fennel,” Sable says.

  “Fox really did. How is Willow?”

  “Alive, thanks to you,” he says. Aloe squeezes my hand, and my cheeks warm.

  He continues in a clearer voice. “We were only able to bring in a little water last night, so I’m afraid we’ll need you to collect three sacks today. I’m sorry to ask you to make more than one trip on your first day among the Scourge, but we have no choice.”

  “Three sacks,” another man repeats, emphasizing each word. It’s Adder, the last of the Council. His voice is raspy and harsh. I’ve always disliked it. I decided I didn’t like Adder period when I heard he was unhappy that Aloe was chosen by the people to be one of the Three. “And don’t let that Lofty Keeper talk you into any more than their equal share of the water. They’ll not get one drop more than they’re due—”

  Aloe interrupts him. “She knows her duty. Are you ready, Fennel?” I nod. She embraces me, and whispers in my ear. “Don’t forget—never forget—you are protected. The Scourge can’t harm you. Remember that when you’re afraid.”

  “I’m afraid now.”

  “Then remember it now.”

  She leads me to the passage that will take me back to the mouth of the cave. People touch me as I walk, murmuring good luck. Eland clings to me, followed by Calli. Her tears moisten my cheek.

  “Here, Fennel.” Bear’s voice is even rougher than usual. He presses something silky into my hand, his fingers lingering on mine. “The foot of a rabbit, for luck.” It’s a charm, left over from the old days, before the Fall.

  Then his hand is gone, and everyone is gone, and I stand alone in the passageway.

  I start walking, rehearsing in my mind what I’ll do when I leave the caves, as Aloe taught me. Take the path to the clearing. Walk along the edge of the clearing. Find the sled track, and follow it down to the water hole, where the sled waits. I go over the number of paces it should take to complete each part of my trip, repeating them to be sure I remember. Then I try to wipe my mind clean.

  I try not to think of the cries of the creatures the night before. I try not to think of the many stories I’ve heard about the flesh-eaters tearing apart their victims, or the agonizing transformation into one of them—half human, half dead. Instead I focus on the cool, lumpy rock under my hand, or the musty smell of the passage, or how many steps I have left until I reach the mouth of the cave. Anything else.

  But it’s impossible.

  My heart is a desperate animal, smashing against my rib cage. My shivering now has nothing to do with the cold. I sing—another trick Aloe taught me—but the closer I get to the mouth of the cave, the slower I walk and the softer I sing. Then I stop walking and singing altogether, trying to work up the courage to take the last few steps necessary to reach the sunlight.

  Something’s thrashing through the forest, coming closer. I hear shrieking, like the dying people of my imagination. I tuck the rabbit’s foot into my pocket, and tug a scarf Aloe gave me up over my mouth and nose, preparing for the stench.

  For a moment I wonder if my protection will hold, but I push the thought away. It’s the gift of our Sightlessness, as I’ve always been told.

  I think of Eland huddled in the gloom of the caves, eating the salty dried meat, waiting for his water ration. That does it. I take a deep breath, and step outside.

  The creatures surge around me. Their howls pierce me. Even through the barrier of the scarf, I can smell their putrid breath. Something brushes my sleeve and I cry out, wrapping my arms tightly around my body like a shroud.

  What if I’m not protected? What if everything I’ve been told about my Sightlessness—everything I’ve believed about myself—isn’t true? The Scourge will consume me, as they have so many others. Or worse, I’ll become like one of them, only knowing hunger, thirst, and the yearning for flesh. I yank the scarf down; it’s suffocating. I wait, shuddering, for biting mouths and tearing hands to find me.

  “Fennel–” The word drifts down from the trees.

  A long moment passes before I can speak, and then my voice shakes. “Peree?”

  “I’m right above you.” He sounds steady, calm. “You’re all right. Stay still; let me give you some space.” Arrows zip across a bow. Two harrowing screams are followed by two thumps. “There, they’ve backed up a bit. Can you walk?”

  I grew up in the forest. I know every path, and the position of every tree and bush. But I feel lost now, like someone moved all the familiar landmarks overnight. I take a step in what I hope is the right direction. The creatures follow, shifting to surround me again. My eyes sting from the smell of their rotting flesh. Singing under my breath, I take another cautious step. I don’t want to stumble or fall. I don’t want to do anything that might draw more of them to me.

  “Watch yourself, there are bodies there,” Peree says. “Step a little to your left . . . that’s it.” He follows me through the trees above, using the Lofties’ well-maintained wooden walkways. They clear the lower branches up to the height of two grown men, so the walkways are too far up for humans—and more importantly, half-dead humans—to reach by climbing.

  There are more creatures coming, hurtling toward me through the trees. Panic almost takes me again. I need to focus on something, anything, other than the flesh-eaters pressing in.

  I call to Peree. “They’re keeping their distance?”

  “Yes, but if they don’t I’ll take out a few more. Keep walking; you’re almost to the clearing now. It’s to your left–”

  “I know where it is.” I might be terrified and disoriented, but I don’t need a Lofty to give me directions in the forest.

  I hear creatures dart at me, stopping right before they reach me. Others pace alongside. If I were to run they would chase, quick as the fleetest animals. In the rare moments they’re quiet, I hear their tongues searching. The sighted say many of the creatures don’t really have mouths anymore, only gaping, seeping holes in what were once their very human faces. My stomach contracts, pushing up the little breakfast I managed to eat. I put my hands on my knees, and saliva pools in my mouth.

  “Have you ever heard of a tiger?” Peree asks.

  I swallow hard. “A what?”

  “Hold still.” An arrow whistles by, followed by another thump. “A tiger, it’s an animal.” He sounds relaxed, like we’re sitting and chatting over a meal, instead of having a semi-shouted conversation from the ground to the trees, overheard by the creatures and who knows how many Lofties.

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

  “They were big cats, amazing hunters, graceful and beautiful, and they had a wild scream that would put the fleshies to shame.”

  I wince as a creature shrieks at my side. “That’s hard to imagine.”

  “For me as well.” His voice is grim. “Are you able to see colors at all?”

  “No, but I’ve heard some colors are warmer, like red, and some cooler, like blue, with others in between. So
that’s how I picture them, as degrees of heat.” It snowed a few seasons ago. I guessed the soft, frosty flakes must be blue—to Calli’s everlasting amusement.

  “Well, tigers would be warm, like a fire you don’t want to get too close to. They’re orange, with black marks all over their bodies. In ancient times, the tiger was chosen by the gods to protect humans. He did it so well, he was given three marks across his forehead to represent great battles he won against three evil animals. When the tiger won a final time, saving the human race, the gods placed a mark down his forehead, intersecting the others. They formed a word, ‘King,’ in the ancient people’s language. The word could be seen on all tigers from then on.”

  I start walking again, following the line of trees circling the clearing. A branch creaks above my head. The Lofties leave spaces between some trees as firebreaks. Peree must have swung across a gap.

  “I wish the gods would send an animal to fight the Scourge,” I say. “How do you know about tigers?”

  “My mother told me—my foster mother. She knew a lot of stories from before and after the Fall. Stories about animals, and strange tales of our ancestors who lived in the City, in homes as tall as the tops of mountain peaks, and taller.”

  “Our teacher told us about the City,” I say. “He said it was a nasty, crowded place, full of evil people. He told us that’s where the Scourge was born.”

  “Mother never said any of that, only that it was large and lit up at night by specks of light, like mists of fireflies.”

  “You said she knew those stories. Is she . . .?”

  He’s silent.

  “I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

  I hear him load his bow. Another thump. The creatures howl in response. “The sled track’s in front of you,” he says.

  I know that, but I don’t say it this time.

  I’m amazed I made it this far. I was very close to losing my nerve and running back to the cave—until I heard Peree call to me from the trees. His arrows discouraged the flesh-eaters, and his story about the tigers distracted me. I’m beginning to understand why Aloe insists our Keepers are important.