The Scourge

by Henley, A. G.

  “It’s all right, it’s going to be all right.” His voice sounds different now, calmer. “You can come up here.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll pull you up with the rope.”

  “But what if I change? What if I come after you?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” His voice sounds steady, but like he's struggling to keep it that way. He’s telling me he’ll kill me, and all I feel is relief: I can’t live as one of the Scourge. It’s my worst nightmare.

  “Isn’t it against your rules? To allow a Groundling in the trees?” Not to mention someone who’s about to become a flesh-eater.

  “It can’t be helped. I can’t let the Water Bearer be taken.”

  That distracts me from the terror clawing away at my insides. “What did you call me?”

  “Water Bearer. It’s our name for you.”

  “Was Aloe called that, too?” I’m saying whatever pops in my head, putting off the decision, waiting to find out if I’ll change. I still don’t feel any different.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know we had a name.”

  “Maybe Shrike wasn’t as chatty as I seem to be. What do you want to do? More of them are coming.”

  I hear the new ones, moaning and panting as they get closer. That’s it. I can’t think the consequences through. All I know is if I’m going to change, I want Peree to be able to put an arrow in my chest, or some other essential body part. I want him to ensure I’m deader than dead.

  “Send down the rope.”

  Boards creak under his feet. “I’m making a loop in it, like when you swam. Can you climb into the sled?”

  I feel around for it and fall, more than climb, inside. When I stand, I can tell the creatures have moved in around me.

  “Here it comes,” he says, “reach up and grab for it. I don’t want to bring one of them up instead.”

  I find the loop and pull it over my head, then under my arms. “Okay.”

  The flesh-eaters shriek as I start to ascend. I accidentally kick one of them as I go up, and I take a perverse pleasure in hearing it grunt—hopefully in pain. The feeling of hanging in midair is unfamiliar and scary, but despite everything, also strangely exhilarating. I’m flying, like in my dream.

  “Swing your legs, I’ll pull you in,” Peree says.

  I do what he says, aiming for his voice, and scramble onto the walkway. I end up flush against his body, my face against his warm chest, my arms around his waist. I drop my hands, and he takes a step back, clearing his throat.

  Relief surges through me, diluting the fear. I’m in the trees—safe from the Scourge. Then the walkway sways, and abruptly I feel vulnerable again. I’m in the trees—in Lofty territory. I have little fear of moving around on the ground most of the time, but this is different. There’s no map in my head of these walkways, and I know nothing of Lofty ways. I stand very still, afraid a step in any direction will cause me to plunge to the ground, or into some unknown trap.

  “What is it?” Peree asks. “Do you feel different?”

  “I don’t–” I don’t like asking for help. “Is there something to hold on to?”

  “Oh, of course.” He steps beside me and takes my hand. “Let me see your arm . . . There’s a bite-shaped mark, but the skin isn’t broken. I’ll wrap it.” He tears some sort of cloth and binds my arm.

  “Shouldn’t I be feeling something by now, if I was going to change?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I think so.” He takes a step closer. “You don’t look any different. No, I take that back, you look beat. Let’s sit.”

  He guides me down the walkway to a small seat—rough wood planking secured against the trunk of an enormous tree from the feel of it. I hear the rattle of his bow on the walkway as he sits down a few feet from me. The pungent smell of the greenheart trees, always strong on the ground, is even more potent up here. No wonder the Lofties all smell like them—except Peree, with his honeysuckle scent.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “We wait. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Here, I have some bread, berries, and squirrel meat.”

  He puts a cloth in my hand, with the food wrapped inside. I want to devour it, but I nibble instead. This may be the only food he has. When the weakness and hunger pangs subside a little, I wrap up the rest of his food and hand it back.

  His callused thumb slides across my fingers as he takes the packet. “So many scars."

  I shrug, embarrassed. “My hands see for me, but they pay a price.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. Waiting. I’m conscious of his eyes on me, watching me, looking for any signs of the change.

  “How do you feel now?” he asks.

  “The same. My arm doesn’t hurt as much.”

  I hear him exhale. “Maybe we’re in the clear. That flesh-eater just wanted to see how you tasted before it dug in.” There’s the sound of a smile in his voice.

  I make a face. “Probably like salt meat. It’s practically all we eat in the caves. Keep your bow close anyway.”

  I allow myself to relax a little as time creeps by, and to listen with more interest to the sounds in the trees. Branches creak, the flesh-eaters roam around below us, but I can’t hear the sounds of any Lofties. “I hope no one can see us,” I say.

  “Not likely. I can barely see you now that the sun’s gone down. And no one sleeps this low to the ground.” From his tone, it sounds like that should somehow be obvious to me.

  “How would I know? It’s not like I’ve ever been up here before.” It’s not like any Groundling has ever been up here before. “So where do you sleep?”

  “Much farther up—our homes, the kitchens, the workplaces—everything is high up. This is only a little outpost. No one comes down here, except to access the water hole when the flesh-eaters aren’t around. Hey, are you thirsty?” He changes the subject quickly, like he doesn’t want to leave an opening for me to ask more questions about their community.

  Guilt trickles through me, thinking of all the water I lapped up earlier. “I’m okay. You?”

  “It’s manageable. We’ve learned to conserve our water rations when the fleshies are here.”

  I wonder if that means the Three have punished the Lofties before by withholding their water. I’d never heard that. Then again, when the Scourge came before, I was doing lessons or playing with the other children in the caves, not following every decision of the Council. A cooling wind blows through the branches, lifting the ends of my sweat-and-dirt-matted hair. I face the breeze and breathe deeply, preparing to ask him the questions that I’ve been asking myself all day: “Peree, why did you shoot Jackal? Couldn’t you have put the fire out and let him go back to the caves? Did you have to kill him?”

  “Yes, I did have to kill him,” he says, his voice hard.

  “Why? Because it was your duty?”

  “He started it, remember? But no, not because it was my duty. He was being consumed.”

  “By the fire?”

  “By the Scourge.”

  “What? No one said Jackal was in danger from the flesh-eaters. I heard he set the fire and you shot him as punishment,” I say.

  “Shrike told your Council exactly what happened.”

  “Which of the Three did he tell?”

  “The one named for a snake.”

  “Adder. That’s not the story he told us.”

  “And yet it’s the truth,” Peree says. “Believe me, Fenn, I didn’t want to kill the man, but I couldn’t let the Scourge take him any more than I could let them take you. Shooting him was the only humane thing I could do.”

  I’m torn. Everything I’ve been raised to believe urges me not to believe a Lofty. But I want to believe him. Peree’s version of what happened is exactly how I would expect him to act. Look what he did for me. And why am I unsurprised to hear Adder might have lied, especially if the lie placed the Lofties in an even worse light in the eyes of the community? If I told them Peree�
�s side of the story, it would be his word against Adder’s. No one would even consider taking the word of a Lofty over the word of one of the Three. Except me.

  “I believe you,” I whisper.

  “Thank you.”

  I listen to the moans of the creatures below. There are less of them now. They’ve dispersed since Peree pulled me up, like they have no interest in us as long as we’re in the trees. Lucky Lofties. I push away the burst of resentment I feel, reminding myself that a Lofty probably saved my life. I owe him. Again.

  “I don’t think I would’ve survived down there.”

  His laugh is sharp. “We may not survive up here if anyone finds out I let you come up.”

  “You said no one could see us!”

  “It’s not likely, but still possible.”

  I frown. “I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

  “I invited you up, remember? I put myself in this position.”

  “And the Three put us both here.” My resentment flares again. “What happens if your Council finds out?”

  “Oh, I’d be punished.”

  “What would they do?”

  “Probably give me the same punishment as you,” he says. I chuckle, assuming he’s joking. “It happened to my mother.”

  My grin disappears. Sending someone without protection to spend the night among the flesh-eaters isn’t a punishment in our community, it’s a death sentence. Permanent banishment—severing a person’s ties to their life and setting them adrift in the forest with the Scourge—is reserved for only truly serious infractions, like intentionally taking a life. What did Peree’s mother do?

  “Is that how she died?” I ask.

  “Believe it or not, she survived.”

  “How?”

  “It’s a long story. Sure you wouldn’t rather get some sleep?”

  I’m worn out, but I’ve only heard a few stories of sighted people who survive the Scourge, and most were from before I was born. None were about Lofties. Hazily, I realize I almost didn't survive this time. Could the Three possibly have known my protection would fail when I fell asleep? Did Aloe know? She wouldn’t have allowed my punishment then, would she? I rest my head against the gnarled tree bark, too tired to contemplate all the possibilities.

  “I’d like to hear it,” I say.

  Peree’s voice drifts across the narrow, dark space between us. “From what I’ve heard, Mother was always asking questions as a girl: why we have to stay in the trees; why we can’t walk on the ground or swim in the water; why we don’t allow Groundlings in the trees; why we always hide when the Scourge comes. She asked hard questions, and she didn’t like the answers she got. As she grew up, she went looking for different answers.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She started leaving the trees without permission, to take walks on the ground.”

  “Really? Why?” The Lofties didn’t leave the safety of the trees other than to bathe or to collect water when the Scourge was gone. They usually kept it short, and hurried back up like panicked squirrels when the task was done. Of course, we wouldn’t allow them to stay on the ground for long, either.

  “Shrike said at first she wanted to prove she could. Then she wanted to prove we all could—leave the trees, spend time on the ground—when the Scourge wasn’t here. The Council was livid when they found out what she was doing. They talked to her, reasoned with her, threatened her. They even gave me to her to foster, hoping being a mother would tame her. They were wrong. She was a good mother—kind, caring—but being a mother didn’t stop her. My parents had to give up a baby in the Exchange a few years after they got me. Mother supposedly left the trees even more often after that. My father said he worried constantly, that she might be consumed by the Scourge, or grabbed by a Groun–” He stops, as if he remembered who he’s talking to.

  I’m startled. I never considered the Lofties might be afraid of us. They were the ones lurking in the trees with their bows and arrows, shooting people at will. Then again, I thought, we creep around on the ground with our spears, superior hunting skills, and fire-setting torches. Maybe I could understand their concern, a little.

  “Anyway,” Peree hurries on, “the Council lost patience with her. They said if she was so comfortable on the ground, she could stay and see how she liked it.” His voice is harder now, more bitter. “The punishment was meant to be for one night, but she was gone more than a week.”

  I almost choke. “A week? Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know, she wouldn’t talk about it. Mother was different when she came back, more serious. She did her work, didn’t ask questions anymore. The Council figured they’d found a cure for her curiosity.”

  “What did you think?”

  “It seemed like she was waiting for something, something that never happened. She was always watching the ground . . . My parents began to quarrel. One night, they had a fierce argument. I remember being cold. I wanted them to lie down; it was warmer when we all slept together. Then, sometime during the night, she hugged me, and told me she loved me. The next morning she was gone. I think about that night, and I wish I’d done something, anything, other than rolling over and going back to sleep.” Peree sounds . . . vulnerable. Like a child. My heart breaks for him.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  “I wish I knew what was so important on the ground that she’d leave, give up her life, because of it. I’ve been looking down ever since, hoping to figure it out.”

  “What was her name?” I ask.

  “Blaze, and it fit her well. She had red-blonde hair, like tendrils of flames. She was beautiful.”

  “And brave, from the sound of it.”

  “Maybe even reckless.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if Aloe had suddenly disappeared.”

  “You’re close to her, then?”

  “I thought I was, but now I don’t know. Things have been different between us since the Scourge came.”

  “How so?”

  I shrug. “She hasn’t been talking to me. It seems like she’s distancing herself–”

  “Right when you need her most.”

  I nod, gratified that Peree understands how I’m feeling. I’m angry. Angry at the Council for punishing me in front of the whole community, and angry at Aloe for going along with it without even talking to me. Ever since she joined the Three I feel like I don’t know her at all. “Peree, do you know who my natural parents are? I thought someone might remember when I was born, because of my Sightlessness.”

  “I don’t know . . . you’re about seventeen?” I nod in answer. “That’s what Shrike said. I would have been pretty young when you were given up.”

  “Is Shrike your father?” I ask. “I thought he might be when we first met. He sounded so proud of you.”

  “He just wanted credit for his coaching abilities,” Peree says, his voice warm again. “He’s impressed with you. He thinks you’ll be a strong, reliable Water Bearer, like Aloe. Others agree.”

  I flush at the compliment. “I’m not sure my people have so much faith in me.” My voice drops. “I’m not sure I have that much faith in myself. When do you think the Scourge will go?”

  “I wish I knew. It can’t be much longer though, can it? Speaking of the creatures, let me see the bite.” I offer my arm to him. He unwraps the bandage and moves closer to look at it with only the illumination of the moon. “How does it feel?”

  “It still aches, but not bad. Why do you think I didn’t change?”

  “Because you’re protected? Because it didn’t break the skin? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m just glad I don’t need this anymore.” I hear him sheath a knife that I didn’t know he had. The sound is chilling. He rewraps my arm. “So, why did you ask me about the fleshies’ hair?”

  I fidget with the worn hem of my dress, reluctant to tell him what I heard.

  “What is it, Fenn? What happened down there?”

  “You’ll think I’m
crazy.”

  “I won’t. Tell me.” He leans closer. That succulent, honeysuckle smell again.

  The words tumble out. “I thought I heard one of them speak to me. She asked me for help. It sounded like the partner of the man you shot.”

  He whistles softly. “Are you sure? Could you have misheard?”

  “Maybe.” I draw my knees up under my dress, hugging them to my body. We always thought someone couldn’t change back, once they began to change. But what if that was Rose I heard? Could we have saved her? Does it take longer to change than we think? Does that mean there’s still a chance I could change? I touch my arm.

  “Will you tell Aloe?” Peree asks. I’m not sure if he means about Rose, or the bite.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what any of it means yet.” And I don’t know if I can trust Aloe anymore. I’m ashamed by the thought. Of course I can still trust her. Can’t I?

  “Our Councils will need to know if you hear anything like that again. It might mean something’s changing with the Scourge.”

  I rest my chin on my knees and rub my eyes. They’re even grittier now.

  “You should sleep,” he says. “Would you like me to tell you a story? A bedtime story?”

  I smile, and slide down to lie on my side, resting my head on my good arm. “What animal will it be this time? You said you’d tell me about the sheep.”

  He laughs. “I have a different story in mind. This was one of my mother’s favorites. Have you heard of a cassowary?”

  “Tell me.” I close my eyes, listening to the hum of the crickets in the trees. The fleshies don’t bother them, either. Lucky Lofties, lucky bugs.

  “The cassowary was a bird, an unusual bird, that once lived in the forests. It had thick black feathers on its body; a bare, bright-blue head and neck; and it wore a crown. It was as tall as a person, fast, and a fighter, but it couldn’t fly. It made its home on the ground.”

  “A fighting, flightless bird as big as a person?” I snort. “That’s impossible.”