The Scourge

by Henley, A. G.

  Protection. The word bounces around inside my head.

  “Nerang, what is it about being Sightless that protects me?”

  I catch another whiff of the sweet smoke before he speaks. “When Kadee told me about the protection provided by your Sightlessness, I was puzzled. Then the answer became clear. The illusion caused by the poison is powerful, but because you are Sightless, you’re less convinced. Your eyes don’t deceive you, if you will, as ours do. And, from the beginning you were told you could not be harmed. You believed you were protected, as much as others believed they were not. And so it was.”

  I shake my head, boggled by the idea. “All my life Sightlessness has been celebrated as a gift to myself and my community, something to be grateful for. But it’s meaningless. A weakness after all.”

  “Forgive me for making assumptions, but I suspect it has given you much.”

  “Like what?” I scoff. “Other than more scars and bruises than I can count.”

  “Bravery, strength of character, willingness to sacrifice for others. Even wisdom. You may be Sightless, young one, but you have more vision than most your age.”

  I try to resist, but the corner of my mouth lifts again. “I bet Yindi couldn’t stay mad at you either.”

  Nerang chuckles. “True.”

  I comb my wet, stringy hair back from my face. “I don’t know what to do with all of this. It’s too much.”

  “Give yourself time.”

  “I don’t have time! I need to go home. I’m afraid to think about what’s happening back there. And now I somehow have to convince my people that pretty much everything they believe isn’t true.”

  “Faith has been limited since the Fall,” he agrees. “At first we tried to simply tell lorinyas the truth, but we found we had to prove it to them by having them drink from the Myuna. Yet, you have one advantage we do not.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your people know you, and trust you. You can use that.”

  I think of Adder and Thistle. “Not all of them.”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy, young one.” He puffs on his pipe. “Of course, there is another choice you can make.”

  I wait, but he doesn’t say anything. “What is it?”

  “You can stay. Create a life here in Koolkuna, as Kadee did. You would be welcome.”

  I step back, startled by the powerful yearning his words prompt in me. I can picture it—my life in Koolkuna. Working in the sunny gardens instead of alone in the caves; drying and preparing herbs for Nerang, maybe even learning his healing arts; taking Kora under my wing; getting to know the others who have been so kind to me since I arrived. I want that life badly. The safety and comfort Koolkuna offers is seductive.

  And I could have it. I could stay here. I could let people think I died trying to find the Hidden Waters.

  Eland, Aloe, Calli, Bear, Fox . . . Like a dead roll, I hear the whispered names of the loved ones I’d never be with again if I take that path. I shake my head, and take another step away.

  “No.”

  Nerang’s voice is gentle, as if he could hear my thoughts and sympathized with my struggle. “I thought you would say that. Well, then. Before you go we will talk about what might be done to convince your people they need not fear the runa.”

  The singing faded away while we spoke, leaving only the steady tattoo of rain in its absence. A shout rises from the village.

  “Ah, the hunting party has returned,” Nerang says with relief. “And they’ve had success, from the sound of it.”

  The idea of eating freshly cooked game twice in one summer makes my mouth water. “Are there more animals here? Because of the Myuna?”

  “The animal populations are returning. It was a good sign that you saw a predator in the Dark Place. The return of the large animals means their food source, the smaller animals, is thriving. They in turn will stay near the Myuna, bolstering our food supply.”

  I think about the tiger—or whatever she was—and her babies, and the dark, hopeless hours that followed, and I shiver. “You said the Myuna hasn’t been as plentiful? What happens if it dries up?”

  “It won’t, as long as the rains stay,” he says, but worry infuses his voice. “I must go and see Konol. Would you like to meet him?”

  “Yes, I would . . . but later.”

  “As you wish. I hope you’ll stay at least until the Feast of Deliverance. The moon is full in two days’ time.” He grunts. “And it may take us two days to convince your pigheaded friend he’s not strong enough to make the journey back with you yet.”

  I sigh. “I know.”

  “I could use my incense to drug him again,” Nerang says thoughtfully, and I laugh. “But hopefully it won’t come to that. Until later, then.”

  I turn my face to the sky. The rain is diminishing; the clouds have finally wrung themselves out. Individual drops join together and slip away down my nose and cheeks. I find the boulder I sat on before and curl up next to it, ignoring the chill.

  I sprint through the forest. Light leaps through gaps in the trees, warming my head and shoulders, then vanishing the next moment. Birds encourage me from their perches. I’ve never run so freely, so fearlessly. I don’t care where I’m going. I just run. The feeling is unforgettable.

  “Fenn.”

  Peree’s voice drifts through the trees. I slow my pace, listening for him, unsure if he’s there in my dream, or in the rain-soaked reality I’ve left behind. Could he be in both? I pause, one foot on a firm, sunlit patch, and the other sinking into spongy, wet ground.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you. Are you alright?” He leans over me.

  “Yes,” I mumble, but I stay still, reluctant to give up the powerful sense of freedom in my dream. Until I realize I can’t feel my fingers or toes. “Actually, I’m freezing.”

  “Let’s get you inside.” He pulls me to my feet, and wraps his arm around my hunched shoulders. He leans heavily on his crutch as we walk.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Okay, I guess. We both said things that needed to be said." He sounds less angry than I've heard him sound since he found out Kadee was alive. "My grandparents, her parents, died during the fever outbreak. All I have left is my grandmother Breeze, Shrike’s mother. Did I tell you that?”

  “No—I’m sorry.”

  “So was Kadee.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I realized something. She left us . . . but she didn’t really leave us behind.”

  I consider again how I would feel if I stayed in Koolkuna and never saw Aloe and Eland again. “I can believe that.”

  He leads me into his shelter and gets to work on the fire. I sink into the chair.

  “I’m having a hard time believing any of it,” he says. “If I hadn’t seen the way the creatures looked . . .”

  “They sounded pitiful. I wanted to help them.”

  “Yeah,” he grumbles, “I wasn’t too happy when you touched that one.”

  I shrink from the memory of its cadaverous skin under my hand. Where are the runa now? How do they survive without shelter, extra clothes, a fire? No wonder they don’t live very long.

  “If you want to change," he says, "your pack is there on the bed. I brought it over . . . in case you needed anything. ”

  I pull a cloth out to dry myself, and the extra dress Kadee gave me, but I can’t change with Peree three paces away. So I hunch in a chair and listen to him work. He hoots in triumph as flames finally pop and hiss into existence. Then he seems to notice my dilemma.

  “Change. I’ll go outside.”

  I dry off and pull Kadee’s dress on quickly, then call him back in. “I can turn my back if you want to change,” I tell him.

  “That's not necessary.” He sounds amused. His soggy shirt falls to the floor, and I assume his pants are next. The heat from the fire is suddenly stifling. I shuffle things around inside my pack, trying to look unfazed, but who am I kidding? Every sliver of my attention is focused on him.

  “What�
��s that?” he asks.

  I realize I’m gripping Peree’s knife, the little bird he carved, and the rabbit’s foot. They were all rolled up in the fabric remnant Bear gave me. I crumple the cloth bear in my hand to hide it, and hold his knife out to him instead.

  “Here, I took this out of your pack when we left the caves.”

  He takes it from me. “Thanks, I’ve been missing it. And now I can finish your bird. Is that the foot of a rabbit?”

  “It’s supposed to be for good luck. A friend gave it to me.”

  He plucks the fabric from my hand. “And this? It looks like a fleshie.”

  I shrug. “Sewing isn’t exactly a talent of mine. It’s an animal, a bear.”

  I wonder if he remembers Bear was the name of the “friend” he saw kissing me. From his silence, I’m fairly sure he does. He hands it back, and I shove it into my pack.

  “Our women wear the carved birds on leather ties around their necks,” he says. “I could make a cord for yours, if you want.”

  I finger the little carving, then hand it to him, too. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

  We warm our dinner, and sit down to eat. There’s a new silence between us that’s uncomfortable, but not awkward. It’s not like we don’t have anything to say, more like we’re bursting to say things we know we shouldn’t. I push the food around my plate. It’s hard to eat with nervous tension like a grasping hand in my gut.

  “Your hair’s still wet,” Peree says. “Come over by the fire and let me dry it.”

  I scoot closer and turn my back to the flames. He sits to my side, and picks up handfuls of my hair, gently combing his fingers through the damp tangles. He takes his time, working his hands through each section until it dries. I relax slowly, just enjoying the feeling of his hands moving through my hair. After a few minutes, his fingers begin to glide across my shoulders, down my arms, and back up to graze the sensitive skin of my neck, lingering on the bare skin. I tense again. He scoops my hair up and lays it over my shoulder, then traces a looping trail down my back to my waist. The fire feels closer now—like I’m roasting over it.

  “I’m going home,” I whisper, “after the Feast.”

  His hand pauses at my hip. “What?”

  “I'm going back."

  "Fenn, I'm not sure my leg is ready for that kind of walking. Can't we wait for awhile?"

  "I can't wait. I need to know what’s happening there."

  He pulls his hand away. “So I’d just hold you back, is that it?”

  “That’s not what I mean–”

  “That's exactly what you mean,” he snaps. “I get it. You have a duty to your family and your people. And that’s most important.”

  “Peree–”

  “Forget it.”

  I know what I’m doing. Trying to push him away, afraid of what might happen if I let things go too far. I want to smooth things over, but what can I say? No matter how much I might want to ignore it, I do have a responsibility to my people. I was supposed to try to find the Hidden Waters, and be home within a few days. And I do miss my family. This wasn’t supposed to be some kind of holiday.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching out toward him. “I have to know if Eland and Aloe are okay.”

  He exhales slowly, and slides his finger along a particularly deep scar on my hand. “Your commitment to your people and your duty . . . it’s one of those things I admire about you. I don’t expect you to change now.”

  My willpower falters. I lean forward and touch my forehead to his, breathing in his sweet scent. “Why did you have to be so great? I’m supposed to hate you.”

  He chuckles in a throaty way that does nothing to dispel the fire raging inside me. “I’ll try to be hateful in the future.”

  He pulls his bedroll down from the bed and wraps us up in it, curling his body around mine again. I hear his breath quicken, but he doesn’t touch me any further. I’m relieved—and disappointed. A part of me wants to roll over and face him, let things lead where they may. At the same time I want to jump up and run.

  I’ve never felt this conflicted about someone before.

  My relationships with Aloe, Eland, Calli, even Bear, grew out of the close ties of family and friendship, nurtured since childhood. I’ve never questioned my feelings for them. But with Peree it’s different. We were thrown together. I didn’t expect to have anything with him at all, apart from the distant relationship of Water Bearer and Keeper. The intensity of our bond confounds me.

  I can’t deny I have strong feelings for him. But I’m holding back, resisting the growing intimacy. If I let go of my heart, give myself over to him, what will we do when we go back? No Groundling and Lofty ever made a life together. There’s no precedent for it. What would our families say? What would the Three do? Where would we even live? I wish I could say it didn’t matter to me. But it does. I care for him, but I care about my family and my people too.

  So I do nothing, snared in a miserable tangle of desire and caution, longing and fear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I wake early the next morning, and carefully untangle my arms and legs from Peree’s. I have to put some distance between us; I can’t think with him so close. I go to the only woman in the village I can talk to. It’s my bad luck that she also happens to be his mother.

  “Fennel, I’m so glad you came.” Kadee takes my hands in hers. Her skin feels dusty.

  I rub my fingers together and a smile crosses my face. “Flour?”

  “I’m doing some baking for the Feast. How are you?”

  “Still shocked about everything, I guess.”

  “And upset with me, for not telling you sooner about Peree.”

  I shrug. “I was, a little, but I know you had to tell him first.”

  “He was so badly injured, and then when he woke up, I didn’t know how to say the words.”

  I nod. “I wouldn’t know either.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. You don’t seem like you’d shrink from a difficult situation.”

  My cheeks flame, thinking about the night before. “Um, would you like help with the baking?”

  “Please—I have so much to do still.”

  I’m as much of a failure at cooking as I am at sewing, but I do love to bake. When I was about eight, I pestered the baker unmercifully one afternoon until he finally shoved ingredients at me and showed me what to do with them. I fell in love with kneading the dough, feeling the soft mush slowly thicken under my fingers. Over time I learned how dough feels when it’s the right consistency, and how bread smells when perfectly baked—spongy and warm inside, crusty outside. I still sometimes join him at the clay oven near the roasting pit when I finish early in the caves.

  As Kadee and I work, blending and forming the lumps of dough, my mind wanders back to Peree. Suddenly I realize the dough I’m working with has become more rock than loaf. She takes it from me with a chuckle. “Do you want to talk? You must have a lot on your mind.”

  “It’s about Peree.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Yes, it's just . . . I think he wants . . . more from me than I can give him.” I squirm with embarrassment, but I have to talk to someone, or I’m going to explode. “I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to hear this about your son.”

  “I want to hear anything you have to tell me, Fennel,” she says. “Anyway, I’m not surprised. I won’t claim to know Peree or his feelings as I once did, but I do know young men. And the way he looks at you–”

  I groan. “Not that again. What does that even mean?”

  “He watches you. All the time. When you move, he moves. When you smile, he smiles. When you walk away, it seems hard for him not to follow. Clearly he has strong feelings. But do you feel the same way?”

  “Does it matter?” I grab my head in frustration, remembering too late that my hands are covered in sticky bits of dough. “No matter how we feel about each other, there’s no future for us! Not one I can see, anyway. I’m a Groundling. He’s a Lof
ty. That’s not going to change, no matter what happens when we get home.”

  “The future can be hard to predict,” Kadee says. “I certainly never saw Koolkuna in my future, when I was your age. And after I came here, I didn’t allow myself to hope I might see my child again, but that too was meant to be. Who knows what might happen to any of us? All we can do is follow our hearts.” After a moment she says, “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.”

  “That sounds like something Wirrim would say.”

  She laughs. “Those words were written long ago, before the Fall.”

  “Written?” I wonder if that’s a Koolkuna word.

  “Writing is . . . marks on a piece of cloth. Marks that can be read and repeated. People used to write down what they thought and said, so that it could be passed on to other people. I can show you what I mean, if you’d like. It won’t take long.”

  We clean the dough and flour off our hands and leave the village, walking along the path to the water hole. A bird shrills from a tree beside us and I automatically tense. I wonder if I’ll ever quit listening for the Scourge, or if it will always be part of me, as permanent as my Sightlessness.

  “When I came to Koolkuna the first time, I was entranced by Wirrim’s storytelling,” Kadee says. “I was especially intrigued by stories from before the Fall, when the world was a vastly different place. After I went home, I was afraid to tell people the stories, worried they’d ask where I learned them. So I whispered them to Peree at bedtime, night after night.”

  I smile. “He told me some to distract me as I collected the water.”

  “They distracted me, too, and they helped me remember my time in Koolkuna.”